


A Dance with Fire

by HakunaMatata4



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Post - Game of Thrones (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-10-28 05:27:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 32
Words: 28,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20773289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HakunaMatata4/pseuds/HakunaMatata4
Summary: Now that the Starks are independent, the Iron islands and the Dornish demand independence as well, Bran doesn’t want to give it to them. War is on the verge. Dothraki without a Khaleesi to tame them are devouring any city they come across, while the Unsullied are waging their own war against the slavers. Drogon commits massacres all over.The wildlings want to live on the land they were promised by Jon and Stannis, they refuse to bow to Sansa and attack northern villages to take them for themselves, the northmen demand their new queen to do something all the while whispering amongst themselves that they wished Jon to rule. Sansa finds herself in over her head.New alliances form in hopes of revenge. The slavers are back In Yunkai and Astapor since the Dragon Queen isn’t there anymore, they focus all of their forces on Meereen, where the Second Sons are still acting in the name of their Queen. The world is in chaos… Meanwhile a red comet soars through the skies above Volantis.





	1. JON

That day started off like most of Jon’s days did for the past few months. He gathered a few of his Night’s watch brothers and went beyond the wall into the coldness. Except, today he couldn’t feel the cold biting thought his thick furs and warm clothes. His fingers weren’t numb and bloodless under the gloves like they usually were. He could even form a fist and wrap them around the handle of Longclaw. The leathery strap that helped him guide his horse didn’t crack every time he curved it. Was it warmer today? Was winter finally over? Or has he just gotten used to the cold?

After the White Walkers became no more than a tale parents told their children or men used to impress woman, claiming they have faced and killed death, the Night’s Watch sent out their brothers to freely explore the lands beyond the wall. Everyday new little groups were formed and sent out. Jon Snow was always among the volunteers to join the exploration. By now he has lost count of how many times he had gone beyond the Wall. It felt like he spent more nights out there in the cold than back in Castle Black. Not that anyone hoped to find anything valuable out there, but it was a way to slowly complete the map of their world if nothing else. Now that they could.

Today though, something was amiss, and not only because it felt like winter is finally over and Jon wasn’t the only one who felt it. His brothers all turned their heads up towards the wall that was rapidly weeping after they passed the gate. They saw it as a blessing though and continued marching north.

He lifted his head up before heading into the darkness of the forest. The sky above him was clear blue and for the first time in a long time, Jon Snow saw the sun. His attention was caught, however, by the red comet, a bleeding star leaving a red trail as it stubbornly flew across the sky. Memories of the first time he witnessed such a sight, flooded his mind. He was, much like now, riding beyond the wall with his brothers. Ed was telling them about how Craster married his daughters and Jon was wondering what he did with the boys. That was so long ago. Ed, Grenn, Pyp...they were all gone now.

He dug his heels into the horse when he heard someone yelling his name. Clutching the straps back, he turned the horse around to face the rider coming towards him. The black dressed brother came up close and reached his arm towards Jon, handing over a piece of paper. “From the King… you are being summoned, Jon Snow.”


	2. THE MOTHER

It felt worse than a knife through the heart, that sharp breath she took burned through her lungs with pain she has never felt before. If anyone knew how a knife through the heart felt, it was her. Pain? How could she feel pain? _ Dead_. She is supposed to be dead. She opened her eyes and took another sharp painful breath, her body shaking, feeling lost and confused. There was no one around, the room was freezing cold, biting into her skin. Huge ruby red diamonds were laid all around her naked lifeless looking body. _ What is happening? _She couldn’t calm her breath and as she looked down and saw the wound on her chest, her breathing only got worse. She, then, began to remember, millions of memories popping in her head all at once, her heart began racing and the pain in her chest became unbearable. “He killed me…” She blurted that thought out loud. “He killed me… he killed… he killed me” her voice echoed in the marble dark room, louder each time. The heavy wooden door opened and two young priestesses came running in, they couldn’t have been older than fifteen. Each of them stood on the opposite sides of the marbled pedestal she was laying on and helped her sit up. An older, yet beautiful woman came lurking out of the shadow of the door. She was wearing a red dress matching the colors of her hair and eyes. “Welcome back, Daenerys Targaryen” her deep frightening voice echoing from the marble. It was only then that Dany gazed upon her and whispered one last time, her voice filled with pain “He killed me…”

The two younger priestesses were also in red, albeit, more revealing dresses. The parts covering their breasts were connected only by a thin stripe that formed an “X” above their navel. Quietly, they lit up the braziers in the room, raising the temperature. Daenerys followed them with her eyes as they moved across the room. Unable to adjust to the light of the fire, her eyes were tearing up… or was she crying? _ No _ . It must be the fire, the darkness was her friend for so long. _ How long? _ She had so many questions, so many thoughts, she didn’t know where to start. “Why...?” was the only thing she managed to get out at first. Coughing, she gave it another shot. “Why did you bring me back? I shouldn’t be back, I should be dead, this is wrong, everything was finally over, I was so tired of it all… Why? Why?!” she demanded mumbling. The second she saw the red priestesses one thing became clear, this wasn’t a dream. It was _ real _. Jon Snow was resurrected after all, why not her? 

The red woman remained calm, sauntered closer to Dany and took her hands in hers. “We need you, mother of dragons. No one can tame your child, but you. He has been burning cities and villages since the day you left this world. He needs you just as much as we do.” _ Drogon. _Her eyes widened suddenly, gaining strength to stand up, or so she thought. Her legs gave out and would have stumbled on the floor had the two young priestesses not have caught her. “Where… where is he?” They were wrapping her in red clothes as she pressed her fingers over her forehead feeling dizzy and disoriented. “You must rest to regain your strength, you will find him when it’s time”. 

The temperature in the room had finally risen enough to ease Dany’s shivers. She leaned against the two young strangers who helped her sit back. “Who are you? Where am I?” - “Volantis, the Great Red Temple, your Grace. I believe you have met one of us before. I am called Kinvara.” said the older priestess. 

_ Your Grace. _Dany shook her head. “No, I am not a Queen anymore, nor I wish to be, use my name to address me.” She placed her feet back up on the marble that unlike before, it felt warm against her bare feet. 

“No!” Sharply said the red eyed woman in front of her. “You must rule, this world may be at peace now but this boy King can’t and won’t hold it much longer. War is coming… everywhere. It’s in the flames and you have an essential part to play.” 

“I played, I tried, I failed… I did what I thought was right and I got murdered for it. I am afraid I am not your promised princess and I have seen your prophecies proven false enough, not to believe in them.” Something in her voice sent shivers down Kinvara’s back and she knew this conversation was over… for now.

The light of the fire was reflecting from the red ruby diamonds around her, captivating Dany’s gaze. She cupped one in her hands and stared at it as if trying to draw power from it. “They kept your body intact for a few weeks. We already made several attempts to bring you back. Almost lost hope, when the Lord of Light finally brought you back to us.”

“For weeks?” To her, it only seemed like yesterday when her world ceased to exist and darkness swallowed her. “Who is this boy King you speak of? Is Jon Snow not the King?” She didn’t even care enough to wait for the answer, saying his name felt like a knife was being thrust through her heart. Again. “He killed me… I trusted him, begged him, told him we can do it together, loved him… and he killed me.” Suddenly, she felt as if her whole strength had left her. She laid back down, put her hand on her belly for a few short moments then moved it up, her fingertips tracing the scar that represented her third and final betrayal. The betrayal of love. At least according to yet another prophecy, although at this point, Daenerys Targaryen felt like she had been betrayed a lot more than three times. Exhaustion took over and she closed her eyes. Opened them briefly again when the door closed behind the priestesses and shut them down all through the night.

That night she dreamt she was standing barefoot on what appeared to be ashes, it felt like she was stepping over snow. _ Warm _snow. Her clothes were half burned, her face covered with black smares, her hair all tangled up and messy. Dark thick fog surrounded her, consumed her, she couldn’t see much ahead so she decided to walk forward. 

Her feet were sinking into the soft ashes, leaving footprints behind. The outlines of the first houses showed up on both sides, she was walking through what appears to have once been a street. As she kept on, a burning smell surrounded her, some of the houses were still on fire whilst the rest had already burned down. She looked up to see the sky but the fog was too thick, painting the world in grey, only the houses black. It was when she turned her gaze down onto the street that she saw it. A pile of ashes in the shape of two people hugging each other, laying on the ground. She hurried to them and tears filled her eyes when she recognized a figure of a mother trying to protect her little daughter, wrapped all around her as if her arms are going to save her from whatever was coming towards them. It didn’t.

Dany kneeled and reached her hand towards them but the wind blew and the two figures dispersed into the air like ash. Few feet away, a similar figure of a child clutching onto his toy appeared. She hurried towards him, leaned in, reached her hand but it was, again, too late, the wind claimed him too. Everytime a figure showed up Dany tried to reach it and every time she failed. Breathlessly, she ran through the streets not giving up. At last, she threw herself towards a figure she couldn’t even recognize and finally managed to grab a hold of it. It seemed like a person covered with…? what? She couldn’t tell. The wind blew but instead of dispersing this figure started moving. 

Dany let go and crawled a few steps back in fear. _ I am the blood of the dragon, I must not fear. _ She got back onto her feet when the black silhouette unwrapped itself and now it was clear what was covering it: two black demonic looking wings opened and spread wide, showing the silhouette’s face. Dany saw herself staring back at her with blood red eyes instead of her purple ones. She was naked and covered with black liquid or was it blood? She couldn’t tell. “ _ I _ am the blood of the dragon!” roared the silhouette as if she read her thoughts and charged towards her, flopping her wings, wrapped a hand around her wrist and…

“No!” Dany screamed as she awoke, sitting up restlessly. Her rapid breathing alone, caused dizziness. The morning sun shone through the small window of her room, providing distracting from her nightmare. She needed fresh air, so she stood up and walked out to the nearest terrasse she could find. The sky was clear, she closed her eyes, threw her head back, breathed in deep, opened them as she exhaled and saw the red comet. She remembered the last time she laid her eyes on it. It was the day after she walked through fire and her dragons were born and now again, when she was reborn. Once, she may have believed it might be connected to her, but now she wasn’t so sure.

She turned around when she heard footsteps approaching her and smiled at the priestess. Kinvara stood beside her, gazing far into the horizon where the sky met the sea. “This was my last wish… the last thing that crossed my mind as I drew my final breath.” Dany’s eyes watered as she continued “... to see the sun one last time; the lemon tree near the house with the red door; … home.” Her lips curved into a smile. Interlocking her fingers, she leaned over the edge of the terrasse and looked at the priestess “So… Who sits on the throne? Where is Drogon? Tell me everything.” 

The priestess started with her child. Dany felt her heart straining her chest as she stood there listening to how he has been flying around, burning villages and cities alike. In Essos and in Westeros. How he was being hunted by the King’s armies, ordered to be captured and locked into the freshly build cages near the dragon pit. As if his army wasn’t enough, the King even promised a Lordship as a reward to whoever manages to seize him. All that led to was an angered Drogon, even more burned cities and of course, more death. Dany didn’t even have time to think about what she would do with her life now since she will no longer play the game of thrones, but for now, one thing was certain, all her paths lead to Drogon. She needs to find him and tame him. He is her child after all, the last thing she has on this world.

“Did Tyrion suggest this? Make Bran King?” The priestess nodded and Dany mimicked her. “He is now the Hand of the King.” Her lips parted into a wide smile. “Of course he is.”

After Dany was informed about all of the conspiring allies; the wildings; the melted iron chairs; the Dolthraki; the Unsullied; Queens in the North… she asked about the one thing that wasn’t mentioned “And Jon Snow?” - “He was sent back to the Night’s Watch, Your Grace.” _ He could only be alive after what he did with a Stark as a King, _Dany thought.

“I am not a Queen, you can stop bowing everytime you see me and can stop calling me “Your Grace”.” Dany focused on that to distract herself. Everytime she thought of Jon Snow, she felt an ache where his dagger used to be, it drained her strength. She would not think of him. 

“It is not in your blood to sit still and watch as the world is ruled by another.” Kinvara turned to her but Dany refused to return the gesture. 

“Perhaps not, but I can _ learn _to sit still and just watch for a change. I am tired, I am weary of war Kinvara, I lost everything to that throne, I am not doing that again.” - “It is normal to fear, child. You died for it and death is...” 

Now Dany turned and faced the red woman, looking at her as if she failed to understand, still resting one hand over the wall of the terrasse. “I don’t fear death, I never have. I fear… me. I can’t control it, I can’t control me, I also fear...”_ I won’t be able to control Drogon. _She meant to say it out loud but instead it just came as a thought in her head. She wasn’t used to show weakness or doubt herself. “...Someone unable to control themselves should not and would not rule.” 

The priestess moved one step closer to her and Dany knew she meant to keep arguing. “Enough, I will hear no more of this.” She said calmly and took Kinvaras hands in hers. “Thank you for all you have done for me, I am grateful but on the morrow I must ride and find my child before someone else does. So a horse is the last thing I will ask of you.” The priestess squeezed the purpled eyed girl’s hands. “No, your Grace, the last thing you will ask of me will be to bring you closer to the shadows.” 


	3. TYRION

_ Jon is already on his way. _The Hand of the King rolled the letter and threw it into the fire next to him. He found it safest to always burn every letter he received. The distrust and suspiciousness came together with the years of serving as the Hand. This was his third, different yet similar pin in the shape of a hand he was wearing on his chest. Daenerys Targaryen being his greatest failure, he never wanted to take this position again, but the new King didn’t give him much choice on the matter. 

Oftentimes, Tyrion Lannister, would let his thoughts wander off to Daenerys. Did he do the right thing? Would the world have been better or worse with her in it? Would the Dornish and the Iron Islands rebel against the Six Kingdoms and seek independence had she ruled them? He told Jon he needed ten years to answer that question. Now, he feared he knew the answer already, but was too afraid to admit it. Yara was one of the first ones to join her ironborn armies to Daenerys’s Unsullied and Dothraki after all. 

Both, the Dornish and the Ironborn accepted to be part of the Six Kingdoms when the new King was chosen. But as time passed, the ironborn were forced to change a lot of their traditions, trading conditions and way of life according to the new laws of the new Kingdoms. They had their ways of trial and punishment, but now they were forced to send the outlaws to the Night’s Watch. With each new restriction the ironborn became louder and refused to act accordingly. All this led to Yara demanding independence. Not long after, the Dornish learnt about it and as the historically famous, most rebellious house they sought independence as well. It seemed most convenient that the only independent Kingdom was Stark since the King is a Stark himself. This fact served only as encouragement. 

Tyrion opened the sandy-white book of the Kingsguard in front of him and for the millionth time read the page about the Kingslayer. Not a day went by when he didn’t think of his brother, he was in his dreams, he was in the books, he was everywhere but not next to him. He missed him so much it hurt, he even missed his sister, no matter what she did she was still his family. Once, if someone would have told him that he would outlive his siblings he would have laughed. _ Died protecting his Queen. _He read the last sentence and closed the heavy book. 

“Come in” he said when he heard the gentle knocking. Podrick appeared in the door frame wearing his armor. _ He must have just finished with the training. _Since Brienne was named Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, the white and gold cloaks trained twice as hard. When someone rebelled against the new training hours, Brianne would challenge them to a duel. That happened only twice. 

“The King would like a word, my Lord.” Tyrion nodded and jumped from the chair. When he entered the room, he instantly realized that the King is physically present but not here. He knew better than to disturb Bran the Broken when his eyes were white, so he walked to the small round table and filled a cut of the finest red wine he has ever tasted. It was probably the one and only thing he missed about King’s Landing while he was serving another Queen. Not a place in the Kingdoms had a tastier wine. However, Tyrion vowed that one day, his vinery will know no rivally.

When he noticed that the King was back, he asked “Drogon?” Bran nodded. “He is flying around in the Dolthraki sea for now. What happened in Volantis cannot happen again, not on this side of the sea at least, not with everyone rebelling. With Brienne our armies are growing fast but not fast enough. We are on the verge of war… again, not even a year has passed. What if we let the Dornish and the Ironborn have their independence?”

Tyrion took another sip from the sweet wine. “What is going to stop the others from demanding independence then? It will also mean losing half of the realm, half of the armies, half of everything. We cannot afford that.” 

“How is ending up with a war better than losing half of our armies peacefully?” The King’s voice raised but so did Tyrion’s. He wasn’t afraid of Bran, not like he was of Daenerys at the very least. “And what do you imagine will happen after we give them what they want? War. War will happen.”

Bran spun the wheels of his chair and looked out the window in the direction of the Dragon Pit that was being rebuilt. “Jon?” He asked focusing on his more urgent problem. Drogon needed to be stopped. 

“He is already on his way, he should arrive soon.” - “Good.” The imp bowed and started walking away when his name was called.

“Lord Tyrion…” He stopped and turned to face Bran. “Yes, Your Grace?” The King stayed quiet for a few moments, staring at the sea that surrounded his city until finally, he continued. “Have them start building the scorpions now.”


	4. SANSA

Two angry northman burst through the thick wooden doors and on the opposite side of them, at the end of the long hall, awaited the Queen. The guards reacted fast closing in before her with their hands tightly gripping the hilt of their swords. She gestured them to pull back and gave the northman the approval to step closer. One was tall, taller than any of the Queen’s guards. He was wearing the traditional northern leathery armor, pauldrons and a swordbelt tied around his waist. The other one was the exact opposite. Older, weak looking, almost half the size of the first man, dressed in leathery warm clothes, yet obviously not a fighter, Sansa reflected. “Your Grace” bowed both of them at the same time as if they had rehearsed. “I am afraid we bring troubling news, my Queen.” Started the fighter. “We didn’t survive the Great War, fought the dead and won just to die at the hands of a wildling. They sacked our village and when we refused to surrender, they started executing us one by one and raping our woman. We were forced to run and leave everything we have been building our whole life behind. They killed this man’s son!” He pulled the older man in front of him by the shoulders like a father presenting his son as a sutor. The older man remained quiet but the Queen could see the pain in his eyes. _ How can I bring his son back? _

This was the third time the wildlings have invaded a village south of the wall. When Sansa became Queen, they demanded their promised lands. Her north man would not have it. They build those villages with their own hands and sweat. They would never just give them up, especially not for wildlings. The Queen said she is not beholden to her brother’s or Stanisses promises, they are no longer ruling the North, she is. The wildlings, of course, took matters in their own hands, every attack more brutal than the previous. It left Sansa feeling overwhelmed.. _ Who knew ruling can be so tiring? _

Ever since she was a child, Sansa dreamt of one day marrying a King and becoming his Queen. She was born to be one… or at least that’s what she believed. But that was a childish dream, a dream where people bow in front of you and you just wear a crown while pouring orders. Pretty dresses, fancy dinners, your people drink secret toast to your health, admire you as they admire the Gods. But this was nothing like that. Yes, she wore a crown and yes, everyone bowed to her, but for every bow done before her, twice as many whispers spread behind her back, how they wished Jon Snow was still the King. And it wasn’t because Jon is a man and she is a woman, no. It’s because Sansa had never really had the traits befitting a great Queen. Sure, she had a tough life growing up and it had made her stronger, shaping her into the person she is today. However, that makes a strong person but not a great Queen. She was always dragged around, playing parts of other people’s schemes. Her life was never really her own, so while figuring out herself, she also had to figure out how to be a Queen and that did not come easy.

Sansa looked at the grieving old man in front of her. “I am so sorry for your loss, please inform the rest of the villagers they are welcomed in Winterfell, this will be your new home. Everything you may need, it will be provided for you.” This was a good solution for now and her people accepted it happily, but if the wildlings kept sacking more villages, it won’t take long before Winterfell is overcrowded by newcomers.

After the two men were escorted out, she gathered her council around. “Show me the locations of the three villages that were attacked.” She demanded looking at the huge painted map in front of her. The bearded man next to her tapped his finger three times over small villages around The Deadfort. The wildlings were heading deeper south, she concluded. “Gather up the armies, send them out to a few locations near here and here.” She lowered her hand over two locations that she thought were the next target of her enemies. Do this with the lowest possible number of casualties, capture them and bring them to me.” Sansa Stark dismissed her council, sat down and buried her head in her hands. _ What would have Jon done if he were here? _she wondered.


	5. JON

The red comet was still soaring through the clear blue sky leaving its blood-red trail behind. It couldn’t have been too long since the day he left Castle Black, yet Jon Snow felt like he had been riding for weeks. He didn’t do much but ride all day long. At least when he was headed north of the Wall, his brothers were with him and their company suited him. Their silly conversations and the ways they were trying to outsmart each other distracted him from the long way ahead. Distracted him from  _ her _ .

Now, however, he was accompanied by two gold cloaks sent as an escort to King’s Landing. They didn’t talk much and whenever he asked them why his brother had summoned him, they would simply ignore him. So Jon was left with his own thoughts being his only friend… and that was exhausting. She was always there, regardless whether he was awake, asleep, or simply reminiscing the past. He couldn’t escape her, not on this road, where there was only him, his thoughts and of course, her. The way she smiled that day was the saddest thing, the thing that tore at him afterwards...the way she smiled. Full of hope, full of dreams… a childish smile. He still wasn’t sure if he did the right thing, but it never, even for a moment, felt like he did. 

Daenerys was someone who never failed amazing him, surprising him. She was someone who one lifetime wasn’t long enough to figure out. When she was next to him, he would spend every possible moment watching her, trying to figure out what she was thinking of or what her next move might be. He never did. Even he felt intimidated by her existence. She was his Queen after all. But was that all she was to him? His Queen? 

He had been in love once before, but this was nothing like that. Although complicated, he never felt uncertain of his feelings towards Ygritte. But Dany… was not easy to love. Not only because the world was against them, nor because Jon’s heritage got in their way. It was because he never felt like he could reach her. She could so effortlessly switch from being the warmest, most loving person he had ever known to coldness so sharp that often left him feeling colder than any freezing day beyond the Wall. So was it love? ...what he felt about her or was it just amazement of how a person like her could even be real? God knows he wasn’t the only one amazed by the purpled eyed beauty after all. 

As the days passed and the ridding continued, Jon forgot to even try not thinking of her. Each day he missed her more than the previous and each day brought more troubling thoughts, more pain until he couldn’t even remember the sound of her voice. The gates of King’s Landing came like a blessing and he smiled at the irony of it.

“You look terrible.” a familiar voice spoke. Jon remembered  _ his  _ voice. “Nice to see you too, Tyrion.” He got off his horse and shook the imp’s hand as the heavy gates closed behind them. The city still carried evidence of that day. The gate stood tall but the wall around the city wasn’t forming a full circle yet. Everyone on the streets, builder or otherwise, was working on the houses, but even so, half the city was still in black ruins. You could even see piles of ash lurking in some of the corners. At the very least, the bodies weren’t there anymore, nor the smell of burned flesh. That was the thing that kept Jon awake most nights since the last time he walked these streets. The smell of burned flesh. 

“So? Do I need to wait even longer to find out why I am here?” he asked as they walked towards the Red Keep.

“Just a little longer.” the imp smiled politely. 

“Why? I am sure it was your idea having me here anyway.” He watched one man place one stone next to another completing the sixth row of a wall. 

“I am afraid I cannot take the credit for this one, it belongs to our King.” 

When the heavy iron doors of the throne room opened in front of him, Jon’s legs hesitated, he closed his eyes as if entering that room would make it real. He never imagined himself stepping inside this room again. But when he opened his eyes, unlike the rest of the city, there was no trace of Daenerys Targaryen ever being here. A reflection of the tall simple walls that evolved into a heavily decorated dome, covered the glistening marble floor. In the middle of the room, the six stone carved columns, each leaving a hint in the honor of one of the six kingdoms opened a path towards the new throne. And at the end of the aisle awaited the King of The Six Kingdoms.

“Your Grace” Jon Snow bowed in front of his brother. 

“Leave us” spoke the King while gesturing Jon to rise. After all members but the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard left the room, Bran spoke “It’s good to see you brother, but I am afraid we don’t have much time. We need your help.” Tyrion explained as best and as short he could about the new threats from the South and the West as well as about Drogon. 

“This is why I came all this way? I am the  _ last  _ person Drogon will listen to.” Jon was trying to make sense of everything he just heard and for some reason, he felt responsible for it all. 

“I don’t like this anymore than you do, but we have lost too many good men trying to stop him, we have to try everything and like it or not, you are the last Targaryen, Jon.” Brienne widened her eyes in surprise and looked at the crippled King shifting uncomfortably on the throne using his arms.“I am confident he wouldn’t harm you, if he wanted you dead you would be by now.”

_ Of course he would do this _ , Jon thought. Without his mother to tame him, Drogon was just a beast… a monster. He lowered his eyes over the glistening floor feeling guilty and responsible. All those people, cities...  _ I did this _ , I should be the one to fix it...or die trying. “I will go.” is all he managed to say knowing that another, long ride is awaited him. A ride with no one else but him, his thoughts and his guilt.


	6. DANERYS

The familiar blistering sun above the Dothraki Sea was high up in the sky. Hot wind was blowing, stirred the dry yellow grass, composing a soothing sound to Dany’s ears. She felt the heat dehydrating her, leaving her lips dry and cracked. Since Volantis she has been riding along the river, which, although not as clear as she would have wished, came as a blessing nonetheless. At night, she would diverge from it as she took her rest. Hungry wild animals came down with thirst during the night and she didn’t come back from the dead just to end up as prey. 

Daenerys Targaryen was no stranger to the dangers of the Dolthraki Sea after all. The first time she rode through here, she was only a thirteen year old girl riding with her new husband and his _khalasar_. Regardless of the time passed since the last she was with him, Dany would often find herself thinking of him. Although they were riding the hard and long days away, for the first time in her life, Dany felt like she belonged somewhere, like she was amongst her people. He turned out to be the only man who never let her down, never betrayed her, the only one she could fully trust and wasn’t wrong to do so. She had hoped that after she is gone from this world, she would join him and their son in the nightlands. But all she found there was… nothing.

Thinking about Drogo or any other happy memory helped the days pass faster, but those memories were so few that she ran out by the third day of riding. She would often try to revisit them, only to end up flooded with painful memories instead. Memories witch brought that pain she felt standing on the walls of King’s Landing along. A pain she feared. A pain so powerful that she was unable to control. At one point, whilst staring at the Red Keep, even if it was just for a moment, she could have sworn she felt a physical pain in her heart. Up until the moment Drogon parted his claws from the wall, she didn’t feel much after that. It seemed as if her body moved on it’s own and she just sat back, watched and let it happen as thousands of people screamed in agony. She couldn’t stop it nor she wanted to. It didn’t feel wrong, it didn’t feel right, it just simply... didn’t feel. Watching them burn differed in no way from watching those _ happy _ children from her window, near the lemon tree, playing under the Braavosi sun. So what if they burned? She had already been burned from within as well. And yet, she was still there, wasn’t _ she _?

She had lost _ so _ much. She had missed them all so. _ My bear _ , she thought, _ my old sweet bear, who loved me and betrayed me and then died for me. _ She never could love Ser Jorah the way he wanted but she did love him. Missandei… she had grown so fond of her beautiful handmaid. Often when she was with her, Dany wasn’t a Queen, but a young girl talking about boys with her best friend. _ Valar morghulis _, she could almost hear her say or was it the wind blowing through the grass that surrounded her? Regardless, it brought a smile on her face. “Yes, all men must die. But we are not man.” she told the grass.

Rhaegar, Viserion… she named them for her brothers, they were all gone now. Her brothers and her children. Seeing Viserion’s ice cold, blue eyes tore her heart. He was supposed to be hers, her child, not fight against his brothers so ruthlessly, ripping each other apart. By the time she watched Rhaegar fall from the sky into the Narrow Sea, she felt so numb that she didn’t even have the strength to fall apart. Everything after the Long night seemed like some blurry dream she could not awaken from. Almost as if she wasn’t walking in her own body, physically there, just...existing but not living. So when her second child fell, all she could feel was anger. No sadness, no tears, just anger so strong that she charged towards the Iron Fleet fearlessly, like she was daring the Gods themselves to take even more from her. To take _ her _.

Suddenly, a dark large shadow swallowed her whole, a roar as loud as thunder filled the sky above, cutting off her thoughts. _ Drogon. _ He flew right above her, so close she could even hear the sound of his wings. _ Is he hunting me? _ Dany thought but he flew past her, taking no notice of her. His mother’s eyes filled with tears and her lips parted into a smile. Oh how _ good _ it was to see him again, she missed him so. _ He grew _ , she thought. Or is it because she wasn’t used to looking at him from down here? Is this what others saw and felt when it was _ them _casting the large shadow? He flapped his huge wings once, already disappearing in the distance. 

When the priestess told Dany that Drogon was last seen flying above the Dotharki Sea, she knew exactly where he was spending most of his days. The hill that looked like a stony island in a sea of green, in a lair inside a shallow cave, near a stream. The same place he took her after that day of the fighting pits just few years ago. It was his home then, it was his home now. 

She just hoped to reach him before the Dothraki reach her. Last time she was here, she was lost, walking and following the river hoping it would lead her _ home _. But before she could find out if it was so, the fearless riders with belts in their braids, came screaming around her, surrounding her. If you were wondering amidst the Dothraki Sea, eventually, you would have been seen/captured by the screamers that carried its name. She knew this, but it was never even a question whether she would risk her life for Drogon. Besides, perhaps the Dothraki will recognize her and accept her back as their Khaleesi. Perhaps. At least this time she is riding instead of walking barefoot. 

At last, the familiar hill appeared up front, motivating her to press her heels into the white horse that reminded Dany of her silver, and pick up the pace. _ Soon, I will fly again soon _ , she thought. For Dany, nothing compared to that feeling of soaring through the sky. She felt so free, so save, so powerful, all the problems that awaited her on the ground seemed so meaningless, so small from up there, so far away. Being alone up in the sky, and being alone down on the ground, were complete opposites. She could stay alone in the clouds a thousand years. And yet her favorite flight was the one she shared with Jon Snow, above the winter wonders of the North. “No” she said the words out loud closing her eyes and shook her head. _ You will not think of him _.

The cave was as she remembered it, the peaceful gurgling of the water coming from the stream nearby, insects and small animals bravely attempting to get near the leftovers of Drogon’s prey and of course, Drogon. He was sleeping inside his lair between the burnt bones, her heart skipped a beat when she noticed that some of the bones resembled those of a human. _ Has he been feeding on people as well? _ When the priestess told her how he has been attacking villages and cities alike, she would not believe her. As she was riding away from Volantis though, when looking back, she could see the burned ruins on the northern part of the wall and the houses behind it. Was Drogon, without her to tame him, just a monster as everyone said? _ No, he is my child. _

“Drogon” she spoke softly, her heart filling up with happiness at the sight of her child. When she came close to him, stepping into the cave, his whole body finally revealed itself. Her eyes widened. _ He did grow. _ He grew so much that he barely fit in his old lair, his head was now larger than her standing body, even his mother was left feeling uneasy by his size. Maybe it was true, dragons grow in the wild until the day they die. Resting his head over his left wing, he took no notice of her, continuing his sleep. Finally, she dared to reach her hand towards him, standing on the side of his head, feeling the intense heat that was radiating from his body. Her attempt was interrupted by the large pool of molten magma that opened, staring at her. _ He is awake. _ She took a few steps back slowly, anticipating his next move, as he lifted and brought his large head closer to her, sniffing her. A chilling growl came from deep within him revealing his sharp teeth to her and Dany faced what she had feared all along. _ He doesn’t recognize me. My own child doesn’t recognize me. _

He opened his mouth and the flame came roaring out in a hot jet. She had no time to avoid it nor she tried. What was the point of trying to anyway? Instead, she turned to it, opened her arms to the fire, embraced it, let it swallow her whole and scour her clean. She could feel the flames crawling against her bare skin, licking her. Her blood and tears boil and turn to steam, and yet there was no pain. She felt strong and new and clean and fierce. When the fire dimmed down, burned parts of what used to be a red dress given to her by the priestess, soared through the hot air. Drogon sniffed her again “It’s me, Drogon, your mother, remember me.” She commanded him but he pressed his feet against the ground, leaping out of the cave “No!” she yelled but he opened his large blood red wings and flew away. 

_ I have to stay and keep trying, he will remember me... he has to, _ she told herself while stepping near the stream. The water felt _ so _cold yet it turned into steam the moment it touched her scalding hot skin. When she cleaned the blackness and ash off, she walked back to her horse and wrapped herself in a red cloak, took out a dagger that had once been in her heart and pierced the material, securing it. She pulled a part of the cloak over her head protecting herself from the sun. And that’s when she heard the screams.


	7. SANSA

As she stood in the warmest room of all Winterfell, the Queen traced her fingers over the interlaced steel all the way up where the two wolf heads met, forming the crown, the same room that once belonged to her parents. She remembered how her mother told her the secret behind the source of heat. Hot stream water ran only through these four walls, assisting the heating process of most of the castle. She smiled at the thought that even after seeing dragons and dead people with pale blue eyes walking, she still remembered such meaningless details. _ Would my parents be proud of me if they could see me now? _ she wondered. 

After she lowered the crown over her head, Sansa Stark head over to the Great Hall of Winterfell where the wildling prisoners awaited her. The northman, acting on her command, had been successful in preventing further villages near the Deadfort from being sacked by the wildlings. She had hoped for more survivors but the four wildling prisoners will do. They could carry her message just as well. She approached them “Where are the rest of you?” Her men informed her that they faced only about thirty of them and Sansa knew there were more. Far more. She had seen them all during the Long Night after all.

Three men and a woman, or so she thought. It was hard to tell from all the mud and blood and torn clothes that covered them. _ She is a wildling _, she told herself yet felt uneasy every time she imagined what her northman did to that poor woman. Woman? She looked no older than Sansa, so it was hard to blame her when she spat in the Queen’s face. The guards seized her and one of them shoved the dull edge of his spear into her stomach causing her to bend forward and drop to her knees. One of the three men charged towards the guard with the spear but another guard grabbed him, pushing him to his knees and pressing his sharp cold dagger against the wildling’s throat. “Enough!” yelled the Queen, having received the sign she was looking for all along. Whipping her cheek with the cloth her handmaid handed her, she spoke “I will ask only once more, where are the rest of the wildlings? Where will you attack next?” she asked having little hopes of getting her question answered.

The largest men of the three smiled at her wickedly “Or what? We wouldn’t tell you even if we knew, _ your Grace. _” He said sarcastically and let out a loud laughter that echoed through the long hall as the other three wildings joined in. Sansa turned her back to them and pointed at the wildling with the dagger against his throat.

“Leave only him, take the others.” When his friends were taken away, the fear in the young man’s eyes grew and Sansa noticed. _ Good, _she thought. Her guess about the weakest link appeared to have been right. “You care for her, don’t you? You jumped to defend her.” she implied, analyzing his face. He met her eyes with his big blue ones but did not answer. Even covered with blood and mud, Sansa could tell, he was a handsome young man. The way his locks of light-brown curly hair fell in front of his eyes reminded her of Ser Loras. She continued “You will go back to your people, you will tell them what happened here, you will tell Tormund his Queen invites…” 

“You are not our Queen!” The young man hissed. 

_ Young and green _ . Sansa continued, ignoring him “... _ his Queen _ invites him to join her for a supper, so we may settle this in a peaceful manner, avoiding unnecessary deaths on both sides. Tell him this, bring him to me and I will release your friends.” 

“And if I don’t?” 

The Queen raised her eyebrows “...you don’t and you never see her again.” 

_ When have I become so cold? _ she thought, leaning over the large window, watching the young wildling march away. _ If he refused to listen, would I have been able to execute him? _ She thanked the Gods she didn’t have to find out the answer. She had always known, to some extent, that tough decisions came along with being the person in charge. At least she often heard her father say so. However, she never imagined that making those tough decisions also came at a prize of cruelty, of changing oneself. _ Is this what happened to the Dragon Queen? _ she wondered. Had Daenerys not been a southern ruler her brother bowed to, would she have liked her when they first met? She couldn’t answer that but one thing was certain, even though she would never admit it out loud, she envied the mother of dragons. Envied her for being able to just fly away any time she wanted to. _ I would fly away right now. _


	8. JON

When he stepped off the ship that carried the name of the giant he knew very little growing up, Jon turned, watching the sailors of King’s Landing steer “Hodor” towards west, towards home. He, however, was headed in the opposite direction. East. This was his first time stepping onto Essos. He knew very little of it, only what Dany had told him about her days spent in the cities around the Slaver’s Bay, now the Bay of Dragons. She talked about it so passionately though, that he often found himself unable to let her finish. Once, while they were sailing towards Winterfell, she spoke about the first time she got to fly. All Jon had to do was look upon her face to see how excited it made her. And that excited him. So, while she was going on about the most intense euphoric feeling she had ever experienced, he disappeared down under the cover and parted her legs placing soft kisses up her inner thighs, which only caused her legs to part even wider. This time, he needed not to look upon her face to know that this excited her as much as flying did. When her body heaved up and shuddered under his kisses, her flying story turned to fastened breathing and soft moans. And that was all the confirmation he needed.

However, now he wished he had let her finish her stories about this land at least once. The heat was unbearable for someone who has spent most of his life up in the North, in the most freezing places one could be in this world. He rode following the rivers and streams along his way as much as he could, soaking his thin, sandy-yellow garment to keep him cool. He liked the northern sun but here, it was just making him light-headed and dehydrated. He had always preferred the cold, he was a Stark after all. Well, partly. Shouldn’t his Targaryen part make this heat, at least, bearable? Dany always preferred the heat and he the cold, so it was hard adjusting the temperature in their rooms, soothing for both of them. Although, when they would curl up next to each other, skin to skin, none of them could even tell cold from hot apart. 

All he knew was that a road as long as the Kingsroad awaited him in only one direction. East. The hours passed slowly, the days even slower. To save the pies and the dried fruit he took for the road, he would stop by the river and catch himself fish. He hated the thought of lighting up a fire in that heat, even at night, so often he would eat the fish raw which only led to a rumbling belly and an even more uncomfortable ride.

When the yellow dried grass spread over the land before him, an image of young Dany being swallowed by the tallness of the weeds, parting a path as she walked through, crossed his mind. He couldn’t tell why, but it made him smile. She was, yet on another journey, his greatest distraction. However this time, it did not seem an endless losing battle. If anything, when he finally gave in and let his thoughts wander off to her, it made the journey seem pleasant even. Each coming thought happier than the previous, as if he had forgotten the ending of their story and she was waiting for him at the end of this journey. 

For only a heartbeat, it seemed as if the sun had disappeared from the sky or hid behind a cloud. Jon Snow looked up but the sky was as clear as it could ever be. He focused his eyes back to the road. Feeling tired and dehydrated and light-headed and now, he seemed to have reached the stage of hallucinations. _ Just as well _ , he thought. Daenerys would be riding alongside him any minute now… unless… a loud roar echoed above him sending shivers down his spine. _ Drogon. _ The beast covered the sun once more, casting an even larger shadow with each passing heartbeat. _ He is coming straight at me. He is hunting and I am his prey. _He bend forward as if few inches could have saved him from what was coming from above and dug his heels into the stallion hurrying on. Where though? As if a horse could outrun a dragon. Drogon came diving in so strong that the wind the beast brought along pushed Jon off his horse. He stumbled to the ground as Drogon unleashed his fire over his prey and the running stallion screeched in agony. The beast dug its teeth around its lunch and disappeared in the endless blue sky. 

Jon opened his eyes and sat up feeling dizzy. The sun was lower than he remembered. _ I must have passed out _ . As he stood up, a tremble arose in his weak legs. His wondering sight was caught by a hill rising from the endless grass like an island. He decided to head towards the only thing he could see. _ I can walk that far. _ Trying not to think about how far away his island is or the pounding on his head, or that from this point on - he walks, he took the first step. _ Take one step. Take the next. Then another. _ What else could he do?

It was quiet in his yellow sea. Now and again, the wind would blow and the grass would sigh as the weeds brushed against one another. Insects buzzing around him and now... a new sound… a sound of gurgling water. _ Water_. He hurried clumsily as if suddenly, his life had a meaning again. The stream accompanied him all the way up to the hill. Here, he found whatever was left of his stallion and an empty lair. _ Drogon’s lair_. He had finally reached his destination. A sharp flash of sunlight caught his eye, irritating it. He wiped the tears off and walked to the source of reflection, recognizing the sharp object right away. He should, it did after all belong to him... before he thrust it in the heart of Daenerys Targaryen.


	9. BRAN

From a nearby oak a raven quorked, and Bran heard the sound of flapping wings as another one of the big black birds flapped down to land beside it. But there was another heartbeat, stronger heartbeat, he could feel the warm blood pulsing through its veins from a mile away. His mouth would water at the thought of the tasty, fresh, dark meat. He waited for the perfect moment, pressed his back claws into the snow and leaped forward, diggin his sharp teeth into the warm flesh, snatching the elk’s neck bloody. Food tasted so much better after hunting it than having it served on a platter. 

When his belly was full, the hunter was back into his crippled body with the crown of the Six Kingdoms on its head. Duty calls. If he could, the King would run free on all fours, hunting from sunrise to sunset. But when has a King ever been free? The moment his eyes turned their usual brown color, his favorite hunting spot of the forest disappeared and he was back into the King’s chambers, into the clothes of a King, into his wheelchair. “Thank you” he turned his head to the imp who handed him a paper stamped with a wolf’s head. After he read the letter from his sister, Bran rolled it up, tossing it into the fire. He read the expression on his Hand’s face as soon as he met Tyrion’s uneven eyes, so he nodded accepting the duties of a King. “Send a raven North, inform my sister that the Six Kingdoms are not to interfere in any conflicts regarding the North.” 

Tyrion must have read the concern on his face “I know you wish to help your sister, but this is the right decision. A war is upon us and we cannot send half our armies to fight for an independent Kingdom. The numbers of Yara’s ironborn excel ours by far as it is. She never joined her armies to Daeneryses against the dead or at King’s Landing. We also have to assume her Iron Fleet doubled since then.” Bran knew all this himself but all the reasons in the world wouldn’t make this any easier. Sansa is his sister after all.

The King missed his home, he missed Winterfell, the sound of wooden practise-swords colliding in the yard, he missed climbing the high towers… He missed his childhood, when everything was much simpler. Now, he carried a burden of six Kingdoms on his shoulders, a burden he never asked for. His only escape was when he wasn’t himself. Whether he was a raven fighting to attain close distance to a dragon, a hungry wolf overseeing the heated situation in the North or checking up on his youngest sister in the West, it didn’t matter. During his reign he had met many men who would kill to sit on his throne, wearing his crown, but the King never felt more alive than when he soared through the sky, accompanied by other black birds or running freely through the darkness of the forest, hunting his next meal. All of that did not prove nearly as challenging as the duties of a King. 

The situation in Dorne was proving more alarming with each passing day. The new Dornish Prince was not loved amongst his people since the day he kneeled to King Bran the Broken. A Stark. The people sought independence and with each passing day, they grew bolder, conspiring and forming rebellious groups in the late hours of the night. The Prince had caught many of these rebels and sent them to serve on the Wall, acting on King’s command. But the King knew this was only a temporary solution to a permanent problem. These groups started off with just a few members and were easy to control, however, by now, half the Dorne population was surely a member of such a group. To make matters worse, independence was not their only objective. Revenge was the other. Revenge for every Martell member. Revenge aimed towards the Lannisters. And so it happens, a Lannister was the acting Hand of the King. 

Daily, Bran would try to go back through history and find out if anyone, ever, had been successful in capturing a dragon. His most urgent concern. All attempts proved hopeless. Scorpions and Targaryens. That is what worked on dragons. And the last Targaryen was on his way no less than the first scorpions. Drogon had stopped with his attacks for the time being, but how long can a beast remain calm? 

“I can’t find Jon.” the King met the imp’s eyes “By now he should have arrived. Last I saw him, he was a two day ride away from the hill. That was a  _ week _ ago... Have I sent my brother to his death?”


	10. DAENERYS

Ashes fell on her face like snowflakes but instead of dissolving they would leave black smears in their wake. She ran breathlessly not daring to look back. _ If I look back I am lost_. She kept running as fast as her legs would allow. The wind was blowing, dispersing the figures into ash all around her. It was in her hair, in her clothes, in her eyes forcing her to run forward blindly. Perhaps that wasn’t such a bad thing. She has seen it all before. The same nightmare was her friend whenever she closed her eyes. 

A black shadow appeared over the ground, blackening the ash in front of her. As she ran, her toes would step onto it, leaving a footprint behind. It followed her without an effort as if watching her run for her life was its favorite amusement. With each step she took, the shadow grew larger. Now, she could hear its wings flapping louder, nearing her, her heart beating so fast as if trying to burst its way out of her chest. “You cannot escape me, you are me!” roared the shadow causing Dany to stumble and fall rolling through the ashes. She turned on her back and faced herself having given up the chase. The demonic figure charged towards her and she closed her eyes awaiting her fate. A strong gust of wind went through her as if something made its way inside her. Suddenly, she had no control over her body, yet her body moved. Her eyes opened and fire was consuming the amethysts within, evolving in a slow circle around the pupils, transforming her eyes into two shiny gems of molten magma. Then came the pain.

The buzzing of the flies brought her back to reality. Her wrists felt heavy and bruised. When her eyes adjusted, she realized she was tied up, her arms spread wide, bound by the wrists and her legs by the ankles. Apart from few inches, she couldn’t move much. Her head was pounding and felt heavy on her shoulders. The red cloak was still wrapped around her, though not as tightly as she would have wished, but it was there. That at least, was a good sign. Her hair was messy and falling freely, tickling her lower back. _ How long has it been? _she wondered. It felt like she spent more time in her nightmares than her reality, which differed a nightmare in no way. It was pain in her wrists, pain in her ankles, pain in her head, pain everywhere, few bites of dried horse meat, few drops of water and that was all. The rest was ash and burnt smell and a dark silhouette overtaking her body.

The tent was big, circular and dark. She has been in one of these tents before. She lit it on fire along with a few _khals_. _ Vaes Dothrak _ , she thought. _ Back here again. _If they had recognized her, she wouldn’t have been tied up. Bad sign. Besides, she is supposed to be dead. And people don’t just come back from the dead.

A tall man with broad shoulders and dark skin walked into the tent and three other followed him inside. She had never seen them before. Another bad sign. They were dragging a beaten unconscious prisoner, his shirt was torn and bloody, much like his face. They tied his hands together behind his back and onto a wooden column. The tall man’s lips curved into a smile when he laid his eyes on her. His prize was waiting for him where he had left it. He came closer and put his index finger under her chin lifting her head. The room was spinning all around her, she was tired and dehydrated. 

“Kill her, blood of my blood, her hair is white and her eyes purple. She is a _ maegi _.” one of the men in the back spoke in the Dothraki tongue. 

“Cut her head off” agreed the other. 

But the khal whose braid wasn’t even half as long as Drogos had been, looked at her as if he was drinking in her beauty. “I will cut off her head, _ after _I lay with her this night. It would be a shame to kill a beautiful woman without taking her first.” Leaning closer, he towered over her as her head bent away from him. He wrapped his hand around her jaw, bringing her head back and sniffing her like a dog would sniff its dinner. 

Fever took over and drained even the hint of strength she had left. Lost in the dizziness, she smiled an ironic smile. She found herself here, again. Somehow, this was the place she would always, eventually end up in. Perhaps she should just stay and join the other _khal’s_ widows. This smile didn’t go unnoticed by the _khal_ and Dany read his confusion as if there was something missing in the eyes of his prisoner. _ I should fear him _ . _ He wants me to fear him _ . It had just occurred to her. Ever since she was brought back, Daenerys Targaryen no longer feared for her life. Not when Drogon roared his scalding hot jet of fire over her, not when the Dothraki came straight for her, waving their _ arakhs _in the air, not when they tied her up in the middle of this tent. Fear only came in her dreams. A fear from herself. All she felt now was impatient for the _khal_ to get on with whatever he intended to do. 

The prisoner coughed out blood over his yellow sandy shirt, he was awake but his head was still bent downwards. Belts rang from the dothraki screamer’s hair as he walked to him and Dany sighed in relief when the attention turned away from her. A whip slammed against the prisoners chest, tearing up what was left of his garment, revealing the scarred body underneath. Dany gasped as a disturbing realization sent an electrical jolt through her whole body. Now it was back. Now she felt fear. _ Those scars_. Scars she knew very well. Scars she had seen before. Scars she had _ kissed _ before.


	11. SANSA

The narrow, dark hallway seemed without an ending. A playful reflection of fire over the long, coarse walls was the only guide in the darkness. As she walked, the Queen’s dress would soak in the puddles of melted snow. When she reached the last cell, chains rumbled as they moved, joining the sound of melting ice drops, ceasing the dead silence. A pale face followed by two hands that wrapped around the bars, emerged from the darkness. “Seems your friend has kept his word… Release them.” spoke the Queen, her voice echoing through the hall. The two large northmen obeyed and the three wildling-prisoners were guided out of the tunnel. When they neared the light at the end, the girl’s eyes watered adjusting to the whiteness. _ Were they in the darkness for too long or was she crying for freedom and the boy waiting for her outside? _Sansa wondered.

The light-brown locks of the boy’s hair had grown and for a heartbeat, Sansa thought Ser Loras was standing right in front of her. Next to him stood the red bearded giant she knew. Her brother’s friend… and _ leader _ of the Free Folk. He wore his usual wildling furs and was holding a horn shaped cup in his hand. The only time she had seen Tormund without a drink in his hand was when the cup was replaced by a dragonglass during the Long Night. 

She turned to the young man “You kept your word, so I am keeping mine. You are free to go.” she gestured to the guards and they pushed the wildlings forward. When the gate of Winterfell closed behind them, she faced her guest. “Welcome, I am pleased you decided to join me for supper. We have much to discuss.” 

“Aye, Sansa Stark, that we do.” agreed the guest. 

When the candles on the round, hanging chandeliers were lit, indicating the night and end of the generous supper, the long meeting room emptied. Accompanied by two of her advisors and four of her guards, the Queen sat at the wooden chair carved with the wolf’s head of House Stark. She liked sitting in the middle of the long table, it gave her the confidence of a Queen. The last to sit in the middle of that table was Daenerys Targaryen. A Queen. 

Opposite of her sat Tormund, chugging milk as other men chugged ale. _ What a strange man _, she thought, still deciding whether that was a good or a bad thing. “You know why you are here, I take it” the Queen smiled politely. 

“Where is the tall, blonde, beautiful woman? Have you seen her?” the red bearded man asked without any hesitation. 

Sansa was taken aback, narrowing her eyebrows. “Brienne? That is not why you are here.” she noticed the disappointment in his eyes “... She is in King’s Landing, she is the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard now.” Perhaps this man had other interests beside war. Perhaps he is someone she could win over or reason with.

He nodded wistfully and spread his arms “So... why am I here then?”

“You are here to accept my truce and tell your people to let this pursuit of lands south of the Wall rest.”

The giant took another big sip of his milk. There was tiredness in his voice when he spoke “Listen kid, we do not wish for war any more than you do. We only wish for the lands that were promised to us, lands where our children won’t have to freeze in the cold, lands with enough food, you know, animals prefer the warmth too.”

_Perhaps not_. The Queen realized this won’t go as smoothly as she had hoped. “Those lands belong to my people, they have worked their whole lives cultivating them, lived there for generations, they would never agree to leave them so that you... wildlings can live _ their _ lives. Bend the knee and become part of the north and you shall be free to share the lands and live with my people as northmen.” 

“My people are not kneelers, I am not their King and you are not their Queen, so if they think war is the only way to get what they want, I am not the one to stop them....” he stared at the girl who looked nothing like her brother “I agreed to meet you today only because I consider Jon Snow a dear friend, however, you have slaughtered enough of my men already… We are not afraid to go to war, kid. Your army was cut to half during the Long Night, we have the numbers to win. Do what your brother would have done.” he spoke ceasing any trace of friendliness in his voice.

_ Kid _ . Sansa felt defeated. It was true. She does not have the numbers to win. Not without the help of King’s Landing. She also cannot give the wildlings what they want. Her northmen would never accept her as their Queen if she did, and Jon Snow was already preferred amongst them. Even her advisers could not agree on a way out of this mess. She felt trapped, suffocated. _ They leave me no choice _. Suddenly, the smell of the burning candles became unbearable. 

The red bearded man stood up, chugging the last of his milk. “Alright, think about what was said and make the right decision.” He lifted his hand unfolding three of his fingers and slouched over the table. “Three days.” Lost for words, the Queen watched the wildling walk away, clutching the handles of her chair. _ No_. _ It’s a mistake_. But her emotions overpowered reason and before she knew, the words were out. 

“Seize him.”


	12. THE PRISONER

Even when he would push past the pain and force his eyes open, the prisoner could not see much. Blurriness clouded his vision, intensifying the pounding of his head. So he decided to keep them closed, he did not wish to see what was coming anyway. One of the tall dark-skinned strangers that carried him inside this tent threw on the ground, what appeared to be, a unique sword and a dagger, which once was pierced through the heart of a Queen. The whip came bashing again, almost tearing his skin bloody, making him lean his head against the wooden column he was tied to, in hopes to once again drift off into unconsciousness. His hope died when the one who seemed to be their leader, lost interest in ... was that a man? Or a woman? The wooden column covered them but it made no difference, now the _ khal _was coming for him.

The bloody beating stopped as soon as they carried him under the two colossal stone-carved stallions. _ Vaes Dothrak_, he thought, half conscious. _ They cannot spill blood in here. _ Perhaps he did pay attention at times. That, however, did not stop the bashing of the whips. Belts rang as the leader kneeled next to him, mumbled something in a tongue Jon Snow could not understand and tied a rope around his neck gripping it firmly, sucking the life out of him. Darkness followed, familiar pitch black darkness. He had been here before, knew better than to fight it, so he just let it swallow him whole instead.

That voice. He knows that voice. The voice he had forgotten. _ Her _ voice. Is he dead? That cannot be, he knew death and in death you do not hear voices. Is he dreaming? He felt the rope loosen around his neck, fading the darkness away. The voice kept going in the same tongue, the Dothraki tongue, capturing the leader’s attention yet again. He smiled at how this woman’s voice resembled _ hers. _Perhaps he was imagining it or it may have been the ringing in his ears. It didn’t matter. Still not daring to open his eyes, resting his head against the column, Jon Snow smiled amidst his pain. 

Some of the words the woman spoke stuck in his mind, he had heard them before like Drogo or _Khaleesi_ or … Daenerys Targaryen… Ignoring the ache in his head he opened his eyes and bend to the side turning his head towards the woman who had _ her _voice. Next, the pounding of his heart was all he could hear, dampening the sound of the voice talking. For a heartbeat he thought he had bleed out, his blood mixing with the crumbs of the ground underneath him, his face turned pale as if he had seen a ghost. He was now, not only hearing her, but _seeing_ her too… 

A loud laughter came from the _ khal _ as evidence of reality, especially when the other three men joined in. He heard her name being repeated by the _ khal _ in the midst of the laughter. _ No _ … _ this _ … _ Could it be a witch, a priestess wearing her face? _ Why was that easier to believe than Daenerys Targaryen being… alive? As if it read his mind, the ghost looked straight into his eyes. _ That look_. It sent shivers down his spine and all over his body, sobering him up from the frenziness. Their eyes were stuck on each other until the _ khal _ jerked forward and unwrapped his prize finally, letting the red cloak fall to the ground. And that’s when his previous fear became nothing but a fraction of what followed. His stare moved from her eyes, over her face, down her neck and stuck on the deep scar between her bare breasts. A scar that carried his name. Jon Snow now knew, he was looking at _ the _ Daenerys Targaryen.

The _ khal _ and the Dragon Queen exchanged few more Dothraki sentences. Jon could not understand the words but he understood the actions. Daenerys had lost this battle, but he could find no trace of fear in her eyes, no disgust, no hate, not any kind of emotion, nothing. The _ khal _ circled slowly around her, drinking in her nakedness, his body clearly craving hers. That is when their eyes met again. All Jon could do was stare at her and she, stare back at him as the tall Dothraki screamer explored her body. The _ khal _paused when he completed half a circle and stood right behind her. One of his hands wandered over the soft curve of her belly and the other wrapped around her neck pulling her head back, breaking their eye contact. He buried his head over her shoulder while his hand flew from her belly over to her inner thigh, traveling up slowly and advancing towards the end between her legs. Jon closed his eyes tight as if seeing it would make it real. 

The loud sound came out of nowhere, forcing his eyes open. The _ sound _ of burning. The one he heard while waiting in front of the gates of King’s Landing. The one that caused a deadly fear in the eyes of the Golden company. Cringing, the _ khal _ removed his hand from Dany’s thighs. Two of his blood riders ran out of the tent. When he wished to follow, the large, strong man with the belts in his hair, commanded the third to stay behind and make sure his prize stays put. Jon was too distracted by the rapid beating of his own heart to even think about whatever was going on outside of this tent. What was inside the tent proved more than he could handle already. He did not, even for a second, move his eyes away from the _ ghost _ that was staring back at him. Until that whip came bashing against his bare chest again. “Look. There.” his captor pointed to the door of the tent in front of him using the common tongue before he turned, focusing on the more _ amusing _ prisoner. _ Now_. Jon charged with all his strength and wrapped the rope that used to hold his wrists together, around the man’s neck, pulling the edges like his life depended on it. Watching her whilst sucking the life out of his victim, gave him strength to tighten the grip. Before the body even hit the ground, Jon grabbed his dagger and sword, took few determined steps forward and stood right in front of Daenerys. It all seemed like some dream he was about to wake up from, yet to determine if it was a nightmare or not. His legs were acting on their own, doing what they were supposed to, his hands working on their own, cutting the rope from around her wrists and ankles, freeing her. _ Words_. What were they? He wanted to say something, _ needed _ to say something, but what? The words did not come. 

What followed seemed to have passed in just a few heartbeats. She, wrapping a red cloak around her, them, sneaking out of the tent and into the chaos unnoticed, she, horrified at the realization Drogon was not here for her but out of plain hunger, feeding on animal and human alike, burning half of _ Vaes Dothrak. _Jon seemed to have not been able to break free from the haze, convinced his eyes would open at any moment now and he would be right back in his uncomfortable bed in Castle Black or freezing somewhere in the snow beyond the Wall. 

She ran and he followed. _ On _ and _ on _ and _ on, _ until... in one swift movement she stopped, turned around, wrapped her hand around _ the _ dagger hanging on his belt, pulled it out and pressed the sharp edge against Jon’s throat. _ Cold_, he thought. From the moment he saw her, he knew, this was inevitable, although he assumed fire would decant him into the familiar darkness. So instead of fighting it, he wrapped one hand over hers, tightening her grip over the dagger and pressing it harder against his throat, the blood tickling his neck as it slowly ran down. He cupped her cheek with the other hand and sighed smiling. All he found in those big purple eyes was confusion. It felt like an eternity standing there, waiting for death, staring at each other before she shoved him back repeatedly.

“Go back to the north, Jon Snow. Go back where you belong. _ Now and always_.”


	13. TYRION

Winter has come and gone, yet Tyrion could still feel the chiliness in the air amid the break of dawn. The northern wind did not help, gushing over the waters of the Narrow Sea. The largest ship he had ever seen made for only half of the new galleys of the Six Kingdoms. Even with the sails set to luff and at half mast, the galleys were clenching the ropes that were keeping them at bay against the troubling waters. People all around were pushing heavy wooden boxes filled with food, wine, armor, spears... over the wide bridges that connected the vessels with the harbor. The freshly built scorpions came next. Larger than their predecessors. With the help of the Hand of the King, a new system was developed, allowing a second spear to be fired within seconds of the first. Even though he would never admit it, it left Tyrion feeling proud.

When the sun was out and the galleys boarded, Tyrion waved to one of the captains standing on the deck of his ship, who set the sails all the way up and tightened them against the wind, steering the bow east. The crashing of the powerful wind-driven waves against the hull did not even slightly tilt the now, heavily loaded galleys.

On his way to the Red Keep, going up the stairs where he threw the pin that a Dragon Queen once clipped on his chest, his mind went back to that day. Those stairs were supposed to be where everything would end for him. _ Why didn’t she end me right on this spot? Would have made for one great ending of that lovely speech__. _ How did he let her slip out of his hands like that? He believed in her with all his heart. _ And yet, you conspired behind my back_, her voice echoed amidst his thoughts. There was a time when he would have done everything to see the world after she was done conquering it, everything to make that happen. Where was that girl that named him Hand? How did she go from _ mhysa _ to the greatest threat to the people so swiftly? How did he miss it? She was right in front of him, breaking, yet he missed it. He was supposed to keep her worst impulses in check, so where was he? _ It’s all your fault. _ A voice would take over his thoughts. _ No, there was nothing I could do_. Another one would retaliate, battling for hours. There were nights when the guilt was keeping him up, it was not his fault, she was too powerful, no one can control a dragon... right? 

He shook those thoughts out of his head as he neared the entrance of the throne room. The constant battling she caused in his mind drained all his strength, leaving him feeling tired, and he could not afford that now. The King awaited him, sitting on the new throne. In front of him, were two men that Tyrion took for informers. As he walked, his footsteps would tap against the glistening marbled surface, breaking the silence. As soon as he came close enough, he noticed the disappointment in his King’s eyes. 

“What’s the matter?” he asked worried. 

“Drogon…” The King dismissed his informers and focused his attention to the Hand and continued “Half of _ Vaes Dothrak _ is gone, burned down and the other half is preparing to hunt Drogon down. Send a raven to our ships, inform them that they may run into _ dothraki screamers _ hunting the same target.” 

_ It’s all your fault_. Tyrion nodded, ignoring his internal accuser and approached the throne closer. “If I may suggest… perhaps there is another way to stop Drogon.” Bran met his eyes waiting for him to continue. “But first you have to go back and see if anyone has ever tried...” 

“No one has tried… well no one before me.” The King interrupted him. “It felt like nothing before, something was pulling me towards him and yet, I could not reach him, consuming my strength as if he was the one trying to take over me instead.” His gaze stagnated, as if the spot he was staring at would ease all his worries. “Drogon is too powerful to control.” The King lowered his eyes over his crippled legs.

Tyrion recognized the look on his face. _ Fear_. “Then, you mustn’t attempt this again, we cannot risk it. You are the King now, your Grace.” 

Bran focused on the imp’s reflection on the glistening floor. “A King who cannot even help his own sister or his people.”

“Perhaps not as a King, but I may know a way Bran the Broken could help his sister.”


	14. THE QUEEEN OF MEEREEN

By the time she reached the river that would eventually lead her to Meereen, even the dimmest hint of a breeze was gone, leaving the day hot and dry. Had she walked, she would have been laying somewhere in the dirt, taking her final breaths, Dany knew. After a few days of walking alone, away from _ Vaes Dothrak_, Jon had caught up to her riding a horse and clutching the straps of another. Her ride. She had no choice but to get on that dark red stallion that resembled Drogos and ride beside him. He must have gone back to _Vaes Dothrak_ right after she told him to stay away from her and stolen two horses amidst all that chaos Drogon had caused. That, however, did not make this ride or seeing him every day any easier. 

The river came as a blessing. Without hesitation, after she secured her stallion, Dany walked knee-deep into the water, soaking her red cloak and washing away the dirt from her face. Jon did the same. None of them spoke a word since he got back. She had so much to say, yet when she tried, nothing came out. Not knowing where to begin, she chose not to begin at all. What was the point anyway? What could they say that would change anything? Change anything to what? Why did it matter now? They never talked about the things that mattered the most anyway. So they rode in silence, pretending the other one is not riding just beside the other. It sure was easier this way. 

When the sun was down and the temperature dropped enough, allowing sleep to come, she felt so tired, she sank into sleep in just a heartbeat. For the first time since she woke up that day in Volantis, she did not dream of the bloody demonic silhouette that carried her face. Instead, Dany was reaching her hand to the throne, her fingertips adjusting to the coldness of the round hilt of one of the thousand swords. A memory. Her dream was a _ memory _ . She was right back there, seeing what she saw, feeling what she felt, thinking what she thought, breathing the same cold air. Hope. _ A childish hope_. God it was good to feel hope again. She had tried _so_ hard and got _so_ far, all her struggles had finally paid off, all her sacrifices had finally been worth it, all those she had lost, all those she had killed, all those betrayals… She was ready. Ready to build a new world, ready to break the wheel, ready to share it all with _ him_.

_ So cold. _ The dagger _ painlessly _ pierced her heart. All she could feel was cold. Her lips clinging onto his, stealing his warmth, his clinging onto hers. Neither of them moves, as if moving would make it real. _ No_. She finally broke off their last kiss and looked down. _ No, not you, please... not you too… _ Her eyes met his, already drowning in tears, begging him to deny the reality of this. Her heart is bleeding, yet she cannot feel it. No pain. _ Why? _ she wanted to ask, yet the word would not come, choking her. Blood was all she could taste now. Her legs gave out first, proving the reality of her death as she fell into his arms. _ I loved you and you killed me. _A teardrop fell from his eye leaving a warm wet trail as it slit down her cheek. The last thing she would ever feel. 

His face disappeared and a door replaced it. Wait… she knows that door, the door from her childhood, but the color was wrong. Suddenly, drops of dark-red liquid trickled along the edges, down the wooden door, changing its color. One step, two steps, she reached her hand._ Warm_. _ It’s blood… my blood? _ The drops became a stream of redness, coating the door and soaking her toes as it spread underneath her bare feet. The _ red _ door. _ Home_. All that little girl prayed for was home, yet she never found it. Even now, dragons, armies, Seven Kingdoms… she had it all, but a home. 

Her legs quivered and Dany dropped on her knees in a puddle of red, coloring the dress with her own blood. A loud crumbling sound echoed, shattering the red door in front of her, alluring that childish hope to follow suit. _ I have no home_. A painful realization struck her very final thoughts. _ It is not worth it_. _ Everything I have ever done was… for this? _ If she wasn’t choking on her own blood right now she might have even laughed. Dying in the arms of the one she loved and all she felt was emptiness. _ It’s all over now, it’s finally over. Nothing matters anymore. _ A voice guided her mind into peacefulness, maybe death wasn’t such a bad thing, maybe it was her only way out of this shit life. She even felt glad it was all over, she was letting it all go, finally giving up. And for the first time ever, Daenerys Targaryen felt freedom. Absolute freedom. Ironically, she never felt more alive than whilst drawing her very final, agonizing breath. It was horrible and it was beautiful. Blackness swallowed her, blackness so thick, she had never seen before and then, she was gone. 

The break of dawn woke her. The sun was lurking behind the endless sea of yellow, shining its first beams through the weeds. Jon was up, feeding the horses. Since they started riding, she never actually saw him sleep. 

“Why?” now the word came out before she could stop it. Jon turned around, his face revealing no emotion. The breeze was back, gently blowing, wavering her silvery locks into the air and casting playful shadows of the weeds upon her face. Each beat of her heart came faster than the previous, hastening her breathing. Just by looking into those Stark grey eyes, she could tell, he understood. 

“Because Dany, thousands of innocent children, burned! You think it was easy for me!? Tell me, if you were me, would you not have done it!? Aye, what I did was unforgivable but what you did Dany…” Her lips parted as he raised the tone of his voice like he has had enough of justifying his actions and shook his head in disapproval. The surprise on her face did not go unnoticed, he took a step back and lowered his voice. “Do you even regret it at all?” 

_ Do you? _her eyes fell over the dagger strapped around his waist, breaking their eye contact and stood up. As she thought. No point of having this conversation. “We should ride.” 

Now and again the little stream would gurgle where it flowed around a stone, joining the buzzing of insects, lazy dragonflies and glistening green wasps and stinging midges almost too small to see. Some days would feel like a day should, but most days felt everlasting. Few hours of sleep, scarcely enough food to hush their growling bellies, constant battle with the heat and of course… riding. They rode day and night. Dany’s thighs changed from bruises to open wounds and bleeding to numbness at least a few times. But it was a small price to pay if it meant getting to Meereen faster and getting rid of _ him _, the constant reminder of pain. Now and again they would exchange some meaningless words to ensure they have kept their sanity. The silence helped them avoid unnecessary dangers. Every time they would hear voices of potential scouts or enemies or sounds only wild hungry animals could make, they would hide and wait for them to pass. 

The Second Sons were her only hope now. They were still acting on her command, holding Meereen strong and successfully keeping the slavers out. If she meant to go back in the Dothraki Sea for Drogon, she would need an army or she would get captured again and probably end up raped and killed this time. _ Daario_, the thought of him staying loyal even after she was gone, put a smile on her face. _ Who knew the one I trusted the least would turn out more trustworthy than the Stark I loved? _She stole a quick glance of the man riding beside her. _ Loved and trusted with all my heart. _

“You will get that throne you want so badly, I hope it brings you _ happiness_.” she remembered Daario’s last words to her. _ If you only knew_, she thought. Where would she be now, had she stayed with him and ruled The Bay of Dragons, controlling the slavers, surrounded by the people who called her _ mhysa_, people that loved her? Would she have been happier? Would it all have been enough to keep her away from the throne chase? She would have had her three children beside her, alive and roaring through the sky, that at least was certain, and Westeros would have been the Land of the Dead. _ All for the better, perhaps. _She shook her head. Every now and then, she had to force the angry thoughts lusting vengeance out of her mind. Last time she went along with them, she paid for it with her life.

The sharp edges of the pyramids diversified the sunshine, coloring each side with a different shade, brightest on the one with the entrance, guiding and welcoming the people of Meereen inside. Even behind the tall walls that surrounded the city, the huge proportions of the pyramids stood completely revealed. On the tip of the tallest one, a black flag serving as a background for the red three-headed dragon wavered in the wind. A Targaryen city. Dany smiled and pulled the straps of the horse continuing the ride as soon as she felt Jon’s eyes on her. Her eyes, however, did not wince away from the pyramid that carried many of her memories. 

As soon as they were escorted into the room where she used to sit her days away, listening to the requests of her people, the man sitting on her old modest bench, on top of the stairs, stood up. “Daar-” 

“Shh…” the man she knew very well hushed her as he took a few steps down the stairs, slowly approaching and circling around her as if he was checking the authenticity of an object he was buying. Dany rolled her eyes, but gave him time to digest the fact that she is back from the dead. When he was behind her, he leaned over, whispering right into her ear.

“Not bad… not bad at all, but you will never be _ her _” he faced her with an angry expression on his face. Daario has shared his bed with enough priestesses to know that they were more than capable of adopting his Queen’s look. He interlocked his fingers behind his back and continued feeding his curiosity with her companion now, stood in front of Jon, towering over him, nearly a full head above him. Dany examined his face closely. She had to think of something and fast, Daario lacked patience and now he was about to lose his interest as well. He nodded and two of his guards brought Jon to his knees as the other two grabbed her arms. 

“All rulers are either butchers or meat!... You told me that, remember?” Her voice turned soft begging him to remember.

The captain of the Second Sons halted his movement. In just a blink he was right in front of her, looking at her with the same look he gave his enemies right before he served them a lethal blow. A look she knew very well. Just when she was about to lose all hope, his stern look was replaced by a playful, childish one. 

“Kiss me” he raised one eyebrow. 

“What?” now _ her _patience was put to the test. 

“You say you are her…” he curved the corners of his lips downwards and opened his arms wide “...prove it.” 

_ Ofcourse_, she thought. Daario would not be Daario if he didn’t pull something like this off. Without further thinking, she freed her arms from the grip of his guards and tugged his shirt, pulling him in, raised herself on her toes and pressed her lips to his. Kissing him like she used to brought back every memory of this place. It looked the same, felt the same, even smelled the same. The stones that differed in size and shape covered the stairs, walls, even the ceiling, keeping the room cool. A blessing after the endless ride under the hot sun. 

Daario grabbed her by the arms and pushed her back. Now all she saw in his eyes was confusion. Sighing, Dany raised one hand over his cheek and smiled. “Daario, it’s me.” Again, he seemed not to care what she had to say, walking away from her and disappearing out of the room without a word. What did she expect? He was the least trusting person she had ever met. Jon was still on his knees, the guards gripping him tight, denying him any kind of movement. She wondered what was going through his mind right now. 

Daario reappeared holding the safe end of a lit up torch in his hand. When he stood in front of her, she knew exactly what he wanted. Pressing her lips together and staring right into his eyes, she dove her hand into the flame, wrapping her fingers around the other edge of the torch, gripping it firmly. The heat was unbearable even for her, after dehydrating under the sun for days. Yet, there was no pain and the longer she held her hand amidst the flames, the wider Daarios lips parted. With one swift movement he threw the torch and picked her up in his arms, wrapping himself around her “I thought you were dead… they told me you were dead” Dany smiled, closed her eyes and returned his embrace. She felt safe in his arms, back then and now again. However, there was a time when she felt safe in Jon’s arms as well. Now, that was the last place she associated with safety.

She could feel the hectic beats of Daario's heart against her chest. “Welcome back, Meereen is yours, your Grace.” Dany pulled back and smiled at the man who looked exactly like when she had left him here, but instead of his armor, he wore a thin, loose shirt, revealing an accentuated collar bone and those muscly chest she liked very much. 

“That’s very good to hear. First, I need you to send a raven down to Naath.”


	15. SANSA

A loud knock on her chamber door woke her in the midst of the starry night. “Your Grace!” a voice followed the hammering on the door. The Queen stomped over the slippers next to her bed, nearly falling flat on the spot and quickly wrapped a warm cloak around her. One quick glance through the window and she saw them, eager to get through the walls of Winterfell. Panicked mothers, children, stable boys, farmers… everything but fighters amongst them.  _ Which village did these unfortunate people belong to? _

As soon as her bare foot touched the stone cold floor, a shiver traveled all the way up her spine, tickling through the hairs at the back of her head. Ignoring it, she took a few further steps and grabbed the round handle of the door, pulling. All it took was one look at her adviser’s face to know that this might have been the last decent sleep she would have in days. 

Had Tormund not returned within three days after the supper he shared with the Queen, the wildlings would gather up and focus all of their forces on a much bigger target than a village of thirty inhabitants. A city. And so they did. With the people of Karhold still sound asleep in the late hours of the night, the city fell within a day… well… within a night. Still in their nightgowns and no weapons at hand, the people that spent years building their homes, now left them in just a few short moments, without a second thought. Of course, those who managed to run to the shores were safely sailing in the waters of the Shivering Sea, away from the chaos. And those who decided to stay and act heroes were outnumbered, bravely giving up their life, gifting their families just enough time to board the ships. 

The land located northeast of Winterfell was surrounded by a heavy forest allowing many of its people to disperse in various directions, safely escaping the invaders. It was home to a few thousand inhabitants and once, to House Karstark. However, during the Battle of Winterfell their house ceased to exist with the death of their last member, Lady Alys Karstark, who gave her life protecting the current King of the Six Kingdoms. After her death, the important decisions fell into the hands of the small council of Lady Alys, until the Queen of the North named one of her trusted advisers Lord of Karhold, whose wife was of a respected family of the city that carried the same name. And it was him who burst through the doors of the Great Hall of Winterfell sending the Queen’s advisors to wake her in these late hours of the night.

Sansa Stark knew well enough that imprisoning Tormund would only worsen the situations between the northman and the wildlings. However, she had at least hoped for a peaceful week and all she got were three days. As promised. After a heated discussion with her council for the better part of the day, the Queen decided that Tormund Giantsbane would stay in the dark, cold cell behind bars. Releasing him would not make the situation any better. At the very least, she had some kind of leverage, holding his life in her hands. Until today. Today it became clear, the wildlings would act even if it meant risking the life of the one they considered their leader, they might have even acted on his command. For Sansa Stark all of this meant one thing and one thing only. She is at war. A war she is slowly but surely losing, the attack on Karhold cut her armies in half, leaving the northman questioning their Queen’s competence. Lately, they did not even bore concealing their scorn against her. Ironically enough, she was the only Stark defending them against the foreign invader by the name of Daenerys Targaryen, the only one seeking independence. Maybe one mistake was enough to erase all the good you have done. That proved to be so for the Dragon Queen, and now for her as well. She should have seen it coming. A  _ Queen  _ would have.

To make matters worse, even her own brother, the King of the Six Kingdoms, could not help her now, at least not by joining her armies against the wildlings. Rolling up the letter that carried a seal of the Six Kingdoms, Sansa considered the plan of the man she once called her husband, the Hand of the King. He always somehow managed to comfort her in her worst times. 

After one of the many sleepless nights that followed, the Queen decided the Tyrion‘s plan was her best chance considering she is highly outnumbered. The morning came and she gathered up all the Lords and Ladies of the North. Her voice echoed in the Great Hall ceasing the perfect silence.“We are at war and the time to fight back has come. Send all of our banners to the Dreadfort.”


	16. JON

Even after a few days in this strange city, Jon’s amazement of the huge proportions of the Great Pyramid wasn’t attained. Standing right where one of its edges met the ground, he finally had time to absorb everything that happened lately. However, that never meant he would be successful in doing so. As his eyes ran up over the sharp edge of the gigantic pyramid, joining the other three at the top, she took over his thoughts, holding a flamed torch in her bare hand. He knew Unburnt was one of her titles, but he had never witnessed what that actually meant. _ How could this woman possibly not believe in destiny? _ Everything about her screamed extraordinary. He lifted his right hand to satisfy an itch where the flame had once left his flesh burned. Just when his thoughts went to the day he got that scar, killing his first _ wight _inside Castle Black, footsteps brought him back to reality. 

“Why are you still here, Jon?” It was her, accompanied by two armed guards. Daily, Dany would take morning walks through the city that was once again hers, the chosen leader happily stepping down. With the slavers retaking Astapor and Yunkai, keeping the peace in Meereen was not an easy task.

He hadn’t seen her since the day they arrived, after the man who he thought was the leader of this city, the same one who had kissed her, escorted him outside on her command. Jon wondered who he might be, Dany failed to mention him once. One thing was certain though, he was not the leader of Meereen. Apparently, before she left the city to sail for Westeros, Daenerys let the people choose their own leader while this man and his Second Sons keep the peace she ensured. Whoever he was though, he was not just a nobody to Dany. They way she looked at him resembled the way she used to look at Jon. Like they shared secrets nobody else in the world knew.

“I don’t know” he answered, his eyes searching hers as she stepped beside him, focusing on the giant building in front of them. He was not the only one who found these pyramids breathtaking. She was wearing a light dress that wavered in the wind, matching the sandy-yellow color of his shirt. Right where her shoulders end, golden thin bracelets circled her arms, matching the simple, yet elegant dragon-shaped necklace around her neck. A thin golden belt imitating the scales of a dragon completed her look. Wrapped around her waist, it emphasized the shape of her. 

He swallowed heavily, saying “Why haven’t you killed me… yet?” A ray of sunshine lurked behind the pyramid, amplifying the purple of her eyes, which now was focused on him. 

“I don’t know…” lifting her shoulders, she walked away, disappearing inside the pyramid. 

When he reached the end of the dark tunnel of the pyramid, the voices he heard were defined with the faces of Dany and Daario. Turned with his back to him, Daario completely ignored him. “...and so I woke up in Volantis.” Dany seemed to have finished her story. 

“So, it’s true? You were dead? And you waited until now to tell me? ...Who were they? Who killed you?” Daarios gaze followed Dany’s, leading it straight to Jon, as he stumbled into the room. 

“It doesn’t matter now” calmly answered the Queen of Meereen. 

“It doesn’t matter!? Forgive me, my Queen, but how can you say that? Tell me who they are and I will bring you their heads” he took her hand in his, lowering his voice. “Please, let me do this for you and I will make sure you sit on that Iron Throne personally this time.” 

Dany sighed, gently shaking her head. “No, I am not seeking revenge. Nor I wish for the Iron Throne, nor to be a Queen. I am here because I need your help.”

“Yes, help killing those who killed you.” 

When she did not answer, giving the man in front of her time to abandon his opinions, it became clear there was no changing her mind about this. She stepped forward “Don’t get angry.” Jon could not see Daario’s face, but her hand on his cheek seemed to have calmed him down. 

“Alright then, marry me.” 

“What?” Dany spoke the word circling in Jon’s mind. 

“Last time you couldn’t marry me because you were sailing for Westeros to be their Queen, hoping to make new alliances with marriage. Now you are no longer a Queen, you say. So marry me. I will help you with whatever you need help with and then marry me. I would love nothing more than to see little Daeneryses running through these streets.” _ Little Daeneryses, that would be a sight to see _ , Jon thought. _ It’s a shame no one would ever see it. _Dany’s lips curved into a smile, a sad smile but a smile nonetheless. 

“Daario… I am no longer the rightful heir to the Throne, no longer a Queen, no longer the Mother of Dragons. For the first time in my life, I am just a normal girl... You were in love with the Queen in me… and she is gone.” Now the coldness on her face made Daario withdraw a few steps back. Surprised, he untangled their hands.

“Fuck Kings and Queens, I want _ you _, not your titles. A great number of women could follow you...? No, Daenerys, you-” 

Jon now wished he never followed Dany inside. He would rather not have heard this conversation, it was making him feel light-headed and ill, or maybe his body was finally reacting to the months of riding each day, trapped under the heat with no way out.

The deeper inside the dark, long tunnel he reached, the quieter their voices, leaving them behind him, away from that conversation. Now and again he would support his weight against the cold stone walls, keeping his balance. Maybe he should stay in these halls, for if nothing else, it was cool. What was he doing here anyway? First, it started off as following Dany because both of their paths would eventually lead them to the same destination. Drogon. But they cannot go back there without any help or the Dothraki would continue their fun where it stopped the last time - between Dany‘s thighs and a lethal rope around his neck. Jon knew riding to this town was the right and clever move. _ Yes _ . His goal hasn’t changed, Dany‘s priority was Drogon and so was his. _ That is why I am here _, Jon convinced himself.

A loud horn blasted through the tunnel, interrupting his thoughts. Not long after that, heavy footsteps filled the silence of the darkness, each step louder than the previous. They are coming and they are coming fast. The sunlight lurking from the end of the tunnel reflected off whatever was running towards him, providing Jon with just enough light. _ Helmets. _ Armed soldiers rushed through the tunnel, shoving him against the cold wall, bringing back the dizziness. The ground beneath his feet started shaking, leaving him wondering if it was real or just in his dazed mind. Then came the sound as proof of reality. It happened again. And again, spreading smoke and burnt smell Jon knew too well. _ Drogon? _ But it seemed as if rain turned to fire. Blazing, heavy drops came raining down from the sky all over the city at once. As he raced through the tunnel, Jon remembered Dany’s greatest enemy of the east. The slavers. Meereen was under siege.


	17. BRAN

The sun was diving in behind the tall forested mountain, putting an end to this peculiarly hot day. Drops of sweat trickled down the King’s forehead as the boy named Podrick pushed his chair through the streets of King’s Landing without a word. It was a very odd day. Oddly quiet, oddly hot, oddly empty. A faint breeze would brush against his cheek now and again, bringing nothing but more heat along. Barely any of the people were out on the streets, probably only those who had no home to go to. _ So quiet. _ Unusually quiet for a city as big as this one. As he moved between the houses, heat was radiating from all sides: the ground, the walls, the sky… A flock of ravens shrilling alarming calls, flew overhead. Ravens? _ Odd_. The breeze involved into wind, gashing the dust of the streets into the air, clouding his vision. The dusty fog swallowed the city, allowing black, blurry outlines to be the only guides through. 

When they finally reached the Red Keep, the King’s sight was deceiving him… Or so he thought. Ruins surrounded him. Ruins, worse than those the day this city fell at the feet of a Targaryen. It was as if he was walking through the aftermath of a fallen city. The heavy iron doors opened as soon as he got near them, as if welcoming him inside the throne room. Confused, he turned his head back searching for Podrick’s face in hopes of any explanation, but he was all alone, sitting in his chair. _ How did I get here alone? _

Using his arms, he rolled the wheels forward, pushing himself through the thick air. The further he got, the clearer the air until finally, the fog faded away. That’s when he saw her. Waiting for him, sitting on the throne. _ His _throne. 

“Mmm I liked the old one better” spoke the girl wearing a three-headed-dragon crown upon her silvery hair, looking down at the arms of the throne where her hands flew over gently, as if testing the quality of it. The new dome and the rest of the roof were gone, the once shiny floor had lost its sparkle, most of the walls were ruins. The King was wondering how the room was still standing and more importantly… how is Daenerys Targaryen sitting on his throne?

The moment she was done carefully evaluating the throne, her fiery eyes met his and a loud roar filled the sky like thunder. Coming from behind her, Drogon settled next to his mother and sniffed the new throne. The mother of dragons raised one eyebrow “He seems to agree with me.” Drogon slowly lowered his huge head next to her, his eyes of molten magma focusing on the prey in front of him. His mouth opened, displaying sharp black teeth and a chilling deep growl made Bran’s skin crawl. Smiling, Daenerys stood up and rested her hand over the snout of her beast, calming him down. As she took the first step towards him, the crippled boy got the same, familiar feeling when the Night King was coming towards him. _ For _him. Wasn’t fear though.

“Go on” she said, pointing her hand towards the throne behind her. “You can sit on it… for now.”

Refusing to move, the King asked “What do you want?”

Her blood-thirty eyes shone brighter than fire and her lips curved into a wicked smile. “Where is Jon?”

The King woke up, his heart aiming to burst out of his chest. _ Where is Jon? _Weeks, even months have passed since he sent his brother on a dragon hunt. Lately, he used his strength guiding ravens up North, helping his sister, which left him no time or strength to search for Jon. His brother lost, his sister at war, left him wishing he could split into two and help them both. But even the greatest _warg_ who had ever lived did not possess such power, much less a King. 

The situation in the North was not getting any better. Following his Hand’s instructions, Bran used ravens to scout out the direction the wildlings are heading. The Dreadfort. The Queen in the North sent all of her forces around the walls of the castle, awaiting their enemies amidst the thick forest. The Dreadfort was right in the middle of Winterfell and Karhold. But because the wildlings were on foot, the northern armies got there first, like Tyrion suggested. The wildlings would also not know that the castle was empty, awaiting their arrival. The armies caring Stark sigils would, however, stay outside of the walls, waiting for their enemies to walk inside the trap. This is when they would attack, forcing them to retrieve behind the gates and eventually trapping them all inside the castle. Tormund would be compelled to make a decision. Bend the knee or watch his people perish. 

Daily the King would take upon the skies, making sure the wildlings were heading towards Tyrion’s trap. They were. Of course, they weren’t his only concern, nor his most urgent one. After he would be confident enough in the intentions of his sister’s enemies, he would turn his focus on the only thing in the world capable of annihilating a whole city to the ground in less than a day. Drogon. Grieving news came from the East more often than not. The beast was feeding, burning and killing everything that stood in his way or threatened his life. Golden cloaks and Dothraki alike. It came at great cost to the royal army which left the King wondering if he should retreat and leave the Dothraki screamers deal with the destroyer of their sacred city, _ Vaes Dolthak_. However, the royal army was the one with the scorpions and without them, the _ Dothraki _would not stand a chance.

To make matters worse, with the best part of the armies in the East, King’s Landing's defence relied on the Kingsguard and a little over than a hundred gold cloaks. Even though his Hand was not yet aware of it, Bran carried yet another burden on his shoulder. Dorne. Once, when his strength was not completely drained, he flew to the sandy southlands. The rebellious groups have reached numbers of a solid army, outnumbering the men still loyal to the new Prince of Dorne by far, which encouraged them to start marching west. Flying overhead, following the formation column of armed soldiers, lead Bran to their destination. Starfall. The former seat of House Dayne. The city welcomed them into their castle, many of its inhabitants putting on an armor and joining the cause. The King knew, it was only a matter of time before they start marching North.

That, along with everything else, kept Bran awake in the late hours of the night. When he did manage to drift off to sleep, his dreams were based more on his fears than running freely through the dark forest with his pack. Ever since he sat on the throne, his dreams resembled rather those of a King than a three-eyed raven. And that was exhausting, taking away the only escape of his reality. 

Right after the daily hours devoted to the requests and pleas of the people of King’s Landing, the routine checks of the North required Bran’s attention. He ordered Podrick to escort him to his private chambers where he could focus in peace and quiet. Only his Hand was allowed to go in or out during his endeavoring state. The further the distance, the more strength left his body whilst flying. Although by now, Bran could spend a whole day outside his own body. The loss of strength on a day like that, however, doesn’t even come close to how drained he felt that one time he tried controlling a dragon. That is why, even though Drogon could be the solution to all his problems, he never dared attempting again.

As soon as the door shut behind Tyrion, so did Bran’s eyes. The ravens seemed to be immune to the bites of the coldness in the North, much like the wolves. He spread his black wings into the air and began the search. Flying felt like nothing he had ever experienced, not as a wolf and certainly not as a human. Strong wind whooshed through his feathers, providing a sense of floating. Nearing the thick forest around the Dreadfort, it was time to descend for a better view. A view that shocked him back to his own body. _ Wait, no_. He is still flying. _ What is happening? _ It felt as if someone grab a hold of him and tried pulling him out, someone trying to replace him, fight him. _ Another warg_. Of course they were no match for the three-eyed raven but as soon as Bran faced the truth of the situation, he gave up the fight having already lost the battle. Defeated, he quickly opened his eyes and looked at his Hand. 

“The northmen are surrounding to the wrong city walls...”


	18. DAENERYS

As she sat on the bench on top of the stairs, Dany remembered how uncomfortable this seat was. She shifted awkwardly, crossing one leg over the other, her sight falling over the chains of the two prisoners awaiting on their knees at the bottom of the stairs. “Free them” Next to her, Daario was nervously shifting from one foot to the other, his eyes blood thirsty. She raised her arm in front of him, knowing his patience is running low. “We don’t put people in chains here” she looked at him and he nodded unwillingly. Oh right and _ he _was still here, Longclaw hanging around his waist dripping blood on the stone floor. Jon was one of the last fighters on the shores of Meereen, pushing the slaver back in the waters of The Bay of Dragons where the ships of the Unsullied awaited them.

Grey Worm departed with his army of eunuchs towards Meereen the very next day since he received her letter. When he read the words that could only possibly come from his Queen, he did not question it once. His Queen was alive. The Unsullied entered the waters of The Bay of Dragons just in time to meet their enemies from behind. The slavers might have stood a chance against the Second Sons, might even have overtaken the city, but the unexpected elite warriors striking from behind cut those chances by half at the very least. The slavers never even reached inside the gates with their armies trapped between the Second Sons and the Unsullied. However, their catapults of fire did more damage to the inner city than Dany could forgive, so she ordered two of the slavers in command to be brought to her. 

When their chains dropped on the floor, Dany gestured them to stand up. “Rise” _ At least they are smart enough to listen, _ she thought. “I hear you two are very respected in Yunkai… Is this so?” The older man nodded shakingly. Next to him stood a young man, only a few years older than herself. Dany studied their body movements carefully. One had fear in his eyes, his whole body shaking and the other was bolder, younger… _ greener. _ “I was also told you are a father and a son… Is this so?” Even though this was her first time holding a human life in her hands after that day in King’s Landing, Dany felt confident. Like she was back, doing what she did best. Rule. A thing that interested her no more. 

This time the old man remained still. _He is fearing for his son_, she concluded and walked down the stairs. Standing in front of him, she spoke “You will go back to Yunkai, inform the slavers, _your_ _friends_, of what happened here and order them to free their slaves. If they refuse, remind them what happened the last time Daenerys Targaryen came to their city. Tell them you saw me with your own eyes. As soon as you do, your son will be on his way to Yunkai, to you. Do you understand?” 

The slaver looked at his son “Take me and send him back instead.” 

The golden circle felt lose around her arm and Dany caught it, pushing it back up to where her bicep ends, shaking her head gently. “I don’t think so. Your son will be safe here if you do as told.” 

“And why should we trust you?” the young man stepped forward until Grey Worm put him right back in his place. He continued “...why should we trust that you won’t kill me the second my father marches away?” 

The room became so quiet, she could hear the drops of blood slipping off Longclaw and dripping over the floor. She lifted her shoulders and her eyebrows followed suit. “Because, I am afraid you will like the other choice much less.” She felt those Stark grey eyes, watching her, studying her, waiting for her to do something impulsive. It piqued the sleeping dragon inside her.

After the old man passed the city gates, Daario escorted the young man out himself. When Dany finally thought she was done with tough conversations for the day, the red priestess showed up at the end of the tunnel. “Your Grace” Kinvara bowed as soon as she stepped into the room. 

“Rise” Dany turned her back to Jon to welcome the new guest. “That is not necessary, I am no longer a Queen.”

“I came to speak of just that, I am afraid you don’t get to choose, Your Grace.” 

Dany took a deep breath and closed her eyes sighing. “We have already spoken about this, I no longer wish to sit on that throne nor I wish to call myself Queen. They already have a King.”

“Aye, there is a King but I am afraid not for long.” She heard footsteps behind her and Jon stood by her side.

“What is that supposed to mean?” she could feel the anger in his voice. Much like her, he didn’t trust these worshipers of the Lord of Light. 

Kinvara stepped forward ignoring him and took Dany’s hand in hers, her face turned still as if it were crafted stone. “War is on the verge and no one living knows more of ruling than you. Once, you believed your destiny was to build a better world. That hasn’t changed. You are the one to break the wheel once and for all.” Dany felt her patience is getting dangerously low, she told this priestess no before, she keeps coming back. _A_ _no is a no_. 

Tightening her jaw, she pulled her hand back, letting the priestess know she might be waking the dragon. “I am tired, Kinvara. I am weary of war. I want to rest, to laugh, to find my child, to go _ home _ .” She wasn’t even sure what home meant anymore. The anger turned into sadness, pain, a feeling she knew too well, a feeling she was trying so hard to ignore. But if that is what it took to make this priestess understand and finally give up, then maybe, just _ maybe _, it is worth it.

“All my life I have known one goal. The Iron Throne. It was all for that throne. Every decision I have made, every sacrifice I have made, every life I have taken, every life I have lost… I lost myself trying to get to that damn throne and I died for it. What else am I supposed to do? I gave it all I had…” she raised her arms wide, her heart fluttering in her chest “…I have nothing left to give…” Her eyes watered and she closed them quickly before anyone noticed. _ I am still the blood of the dragon. _

She gathered herself and stood tall “Somewhere along the throne chase I lost myself, forgotten why I even started playing this tiring game. All I wanted was to go _ home _, to help those who could not help themselves, to never have another child live the way I’ve lived and yet somehow, I ended up being the one to…” her voice broke. She never spoke out loud about the thing that daily tore her from within, the thing that kept her up most nights or when she managed to catch even the slightest hint of a dream it was always the same nightmare… Children. Ashes of children. Jon standing right next to her, not moving his eyes off her made it even more real, more painful, his face simultaneously representing her greatest pain and her greatest happiness.

“Do you understand? It’s enough, I can’t do it anymore. I tried and I failed. I am not your promised princess, I am not your Lord’s chosen one. I am only a girl searching for a home and a mother worried for her child. That is all.” Now she took the priestesses warm hands in hers. “I am grateful to you for giving me this second chance, but I am asking you to understand. Please.” Dany raised her eyebrows waiting for the priestess to finally understand all the pain that throne caused her and how it was all still there, lingering within her.

Suddenly, she felt lightheaded, the exhaustion of riding under the sun for so long still hasn’t left her body. How could it? Her days meant war and tough decisions and her nights meant nightmares. The bruises on her thighs still haven’t healed and that uncomfortable bench wasn’t helping. She turned around and gestured to the priestess to follow her. And Jon followed the priestess. Pushing the thin iron decorated doors, she entered the room with the circled table in the middle, at the very top of the Great Pyramid. The room where she spent hours discussing the fate of the Sons of the Harpy. She stood in front of the opened door that allowed a view of the whole city and The Bay of Dragons, turning her back to her company. 

“Don’t you want a safe future for your children? You want to be a normal girl you say. To find your home. Don’t you want to start a family in a world free of war?” Kinvara refused to give up.

Dany turned around, facing her. “The world will always be at war, sooner or later. It’s who we are, it’s in our blood. What makes you think I can stop that? And why me?” 

“It might be you, it might be your children. All the Lord of Light shows me is that it all comes back to you.”

Dany smiled wistfully, unable to remember her last honest smile. “Well, you can tell your Lord he is wrong again, I can’t have children.”

“Who told you that?” The priestess was taken aback. 

“The witch who murdered her husband” Jon joined the conversation, taking Dany back into their past, the day she shared that with him, ignoring the rest of the people in the Dragon Pit, as if he was all that mattered. It was just him and her, when everything was so much simpler. Just a little more than a year ago. And then…

“A witch... Was this husband of yours, your brother?” Kinvara interrupted her painful thoughts. Thank the Gods. Whenever her mind would go back to those times, it seemed to refuse to leave them. Every second more painful than the previous.

“No, my brother sold me to a Doltharki screamer when I was only a child.” Dany walked slowly to the round table nearby whilst talking. “All for the better, of course… My brother was never half the man my husband was.” Leaning over it, she faced the priestess.

“You loved him…” The woman in the red dress read her face.

“He was my husband.” Lifting her shoulders she answered as if an explanation wasn’t necessary. 

“Just so, not all wifes love their husbands” Kinvara looked at her as if she were an innocent child, yet to discover the world. 

“I presume you lost a child from this Dotharki screamer.” Dany lowered her gaze and nodded. “I am sorry to hear that... losing a child is the greatest pain a woman can endure.” Dany chuckled. _ I’ve felt that pain more times than I wish to remember. _At this point, what other people considered pain, for her was just mundane.

“Were you ever with child after that?” Dany didn’t like where this conversation was going, especially with Jon in the room. But she wanted to be done with this priestess once and for all and besides, it didn’t matter now anyway. And if she was honest, maybe some dark part of her wanted him to know, then maybe, just _maybe_, he would feel a _ fragment _of her pain.

“Yes… thrice” she laid her eyes over the three dragon figures on the table thinking about those children she had lost as well. That took Jon by surprise, he never knew that about her… He never asked… 

“Did all of them die?” The priestess was persistent. Nodding wistfully, Dany's mind traveled back to the days when blood trickled down her thighs as she kept walking through the green fields of the _ Dothraki Sea_, following the stream in hopes to get back home to Meereen. The days the grass was her only friend. The days _ khal _ Moro’s _ khalasar _circled their horses around her as if she were prey. 

“Two did.”

“And the third?” Dany closed her eyes and put her hand on her belly. She felt Jon’s eyes upon her and even with every intention to remain calm, her heart began searching it’s way out her chest.

“I died.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a clarification, the part about Dany in the Dothraki Sea, bleeding, is from the books. Martin never specified she had lost a child back then, but the way it was written made me think she did, so I adopted it here as well. 
> 
> In the show it was the scene where the Dothraki find her where Drogon took her after the fighting pits at the end of season 5 I think it was. But in the show, the bleeding part did not happen.


	19. JON

_ No, no, please, no. _

Her eyes were on him, draining his sanity, speaking to him without words _ yes, you did that, you did that to our child. To me. To us. _He was standing but he could not feel his legs. He was looking at her, but the tears in his eyes blurred her face. Numbness took over his whole body, no matter how many words were running through his head, none found their way out. They seemed to have continued the conversation and he just stood there as if he were Unsullied. 

The priestess continued “Were the other three children from the same man? Who was he?”

“Two were… just a sellsword.” Considering the way the sellsword by the name of Daario spoke to her, it had to be him. At least he wasn’t here for this conversation. 

The priestess walked close to Dany “Can’t you see it, my Queen? You are able to be with a child, but the father’s blood is what’s killing them.” She placed her hand on Danys chin “Don’t you understand? Look at you. You, Valyrians, are more godly than human.” She leaned closer, examining Dany’s face as if she were trying too hard to stumble upon a flaw. 

_ I killed my own child. _

Dany seemed uninterested, moving away from the priestesses hand. Was she looking at him? “Trust me, a knife through the heart kills us just as fast.” 

_ I killed her and I killed my own child. _

The red women ignored that “You can carry a child if the father is of a Valyrian blood.” He wished he could read her mind, or even just her face. But this was Daenerys. She was and always will be a mystery to him. 

“I have no desire of bringing a child into this world anymore.” She turned around staring outside again, implying the end of this conversation. 

_ I killed my own child _.

Silence filled the room, causing Jon’s mind to overflow with thoughts. Each darker than the previous. If he wasn’t sure before, Jon Snow now knew. Standing right there now, holding his dagger aimed at the heart of this woman, he wouldn’t dare plunging it in. But even with sorcery and dragons in the world, no one ever had successfully altered the past. It will be the thing he regrets the most till the day he dies. The thing he has to learn to live with. He killed his own child after all.

“What did you see?” The priestess saved him from his own thoughts. 

Dany turned her head back, frowning her eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“When you died, where did you go? What did you see?”

The wind blew, wavering her light dress into the air as she turned and her silvery locks of hair mimicked it’s movement. _ They truly do resemble the Gods. _ Her beauty so effortless, so pure, it was hard to look away. She took a few short moments just gazing at the priestess before she spoke “My husband…” the corner of her lips curved into a slight smile “... and our child.” 

_ I killed my own child. _

The priestess, nodding, seemed pleased with the answer. After exchanging a few further kind sentences between them, the red women left them… alone. Her gaze over the city, she might not have even noticed he was still there. She was physically present but lost in her own thoughts, as if her mind had flown away to someplace else. The last thing that priestess told her, seemed to have upset her. He was not going to miss this chance though. He stood right beside her, his gaze joining hers across the thousands of small houses under them. The view was indeed breathtaking. 

“You lied to her.” She remained silent, so he decided to continue “You lied to her about seeing your husband and child, didn’t you?” He had not yet gathered the strength to ask about _ their _child. “Why?” 

“Because she was afraid… and she shouldn’t be. Nothing isn’t scary. Nothing is… _ nothing. _” she answered, her gaze getting lost into the distance of the endless blue skies.

“Compared to a wonderful life, _ nothing _ could be scary.” Jon unwrapped his belt and lowered it on the floor. He should clean that. The blood on Longclaw was drying up and the drier it got, the harder it would be to get rid of. The dagger caught his sight. The dagger that killed his child. The haze had not left him yet. He could move, he could talk, but nothing seemed real. It was as if being stuck in a dream. It wasn’t even a nightmare, but just a numb dream.

_ I killed my own child. _

“I wouldn’t know.” she smiled, her eyes running over the contour lines of her city. Dany was smiling… a sarcastic smile but a smile nonetheless. It had to be a dream. That conclusion made him bolder, providing strength to turn his body to her and face his fear. His heartbeats so hectic, he could feel the warm blood pulsing through his veins.

“Why didn’t you tell me, Dany?” She met his eyes but did not answer, her face revealed painful thoughts as if she was fighting back the emotions, the tears. He hated that he was the reason for all that pain she held inside, he hated reminding her of it, but he had to know. However, maybe thrusting that dagger in her heart meant losing the right to know. 

_ I killed my own child. _

“I was going to tell you, but you killed me before I could.” When she narrowed her eyes, he could feel the hatred in her stare she intentionally left readable, disgust even. He dared not talk. Turning to him now, her face revealed no further emotion, Jon could read. _ Nothing new _ . “I saw it… I saw it into your eyes after Tyrion was escorted to his cell. I saw it so clearly… and I ignored it. The truth of it was too much to face so I chose not to. I knew what I had to do right there, on top of those stairs, after my speech. I knew killing you would mean _ my _ survival and yet… I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t, nor wanted to imagine a world without you in it. And not only because you were the father of my child. No. You were the only thing that resembled hope, I put my last shred of happiness into your hands… There _ he _ is…” She lifted her hand pointing towards him and ran her eyes all over him, making sure he understood what he had destroyed, until finally, they went on to meet his. “...there is my hope, there is my future, and he puts a knife into my heart. Doing what _ I _couldn’t. Tell me Jon… how easy was it? …ending my life?...” 

What followed happened in a blur. From the moment she yelled his name to the moment he was holding the sharp edge against his throat. How did he turn around in time to avoid Daarios attack, how he found time to grab Longclaw off the floor, how he managed to parry each of Daarios fast blows, how he overpowered him, forcing him to his knees, how he resisted the urge to cut someone’s throat with all that anger inside him, he will never know. Had Dany not yelled Daarios name, Jon would have been painting the ivory travertine tiles in red right about now. The sharpness of the Valyrian steel cut Daarios skin. “Let him go.” He needed not to see her, the chilliness in her voice was enough to make him obey. 

“He is the one who killed you and you have been keeping him by your side all this time!?” Daario stood up and towered over him. He might have been taller, but Jon was faster. Uninterested to continue the fight, Jon wiped the blood off Longclaw of the loser’s sleeve and took a step back. It was then when he felt it. A shock of pain traveled through his whole body when he shifted his weight on the left leg. His breeches bloody, he bent down, ripped them apart. The source of bleeding was a deep cut from a dagger in his upper thigh. He hadn’t even felt it… Daario kissed the hilt of his dagger in the shape of a naked woman’s body. Perhaps his assumption regarding Daarios speed was wrong. 

_I killed my own child. _

Dany just stood there still until she finally walked a few quiet steps forward, closing the gap between them, her face full of pain and regret… pain even Daenerys Targaryen could not conceal. He had wrecked this woman’s heart beyond amend. He wrecked her so ruthlessly that made her doubt his love for her. This girl had no idea he loved her... The sunlight sneaked between the decorations of the iron door and fell on her face, amplifying the pain in the amethysts of her eyes. “You should leave this city, Jon.”

The seriousness of her voice told him there was _nothing _left for him here. Whatever reason he had before about staying by her side, mattered no more. All those things she told him before Daario dishonorably tried stabbing him in the back, hurt like no wounds his dagger could ever inflict. How was he so blind? He never even stopped for one second to think about how much she was hurting back then. For God’s sake, he never even asked how she was coping with the loss of Rhaegal or Misandei or Jorah. Yes, she was the strongest person he had ever met but even for her… it was just _too _much. Maybe all he had to do was carry half the pain she endured. She was all alone and he left her as well. Left her when she needed him most. _And then you killed her… her and your child too, _an angry voice echoed as if it were the Gods judging him. Why wouldn't she doubt his love for her? How does one forgive that?

What was he supposed to do now? Where was he supposed to go? His life lost all purpose, all meaning. Was he supposed to go back to the Wall and live the rest of his sad little life there? Maybe that’s exactly what he deserved. A queenslayer, a kinslayer, a filicide. 

_ I killed my own child. _

He nodded his head in agreement and without a word he turned around, walked out and never looked back. 

The long tunnel seemed darker than usual, colder than usual. The wind must have blown the fire out on some of the torches. He would need to find a horse, a strong stallion. Another long ride was awaiting. A ride to Braavos and then he would sail to Castle Black from there. His Nan would often talk about the city of Braavos, it would be nice to put an image to the name. Yes, that’s what he will do before he goes back to rejoin his brothers. Or maybe, he should go back to the Dothraki Sea and find Drogon. Dany had to stay and await the answer of the slavers but he was free to go.

Suddenly he felt something brush beside him as he was limping through the tunnel, and a gust of wind followed it, wavering the fires rapidly. Squinting his eyes in hopes to see in the darkness, he noticed the fires slowly turn into a blaze, burning brighter with each breath he took. Then, for even if just a heartbeat, her face revealed itself. In her red dress, Kinvara stood in his way, a few feet down the tunnel. 

“You cannot leave her, Jon Snow. Soon she will require my help and you have to be beside her when she does. Bring her to me. You will know when it’s time.” 

“I am not sure she would like that very much, perhaps you should speak with Daario.” The flames flickered, blinding him.

“He won’t be able to help her, she will need you.” The voice began fading as the red silhouette disappeared, leaving him alone in the darkness.

_ I killed my own child. _


	20. SANSA

A loud slamming of a cup against the wooden table snapped Sansa back to reality. She couldn’t have been more right when she thought sleep would be a comfort she no longer could afford. Each night felt longer than the previous, turning the hours of the night into days. 

The last groups of refugees were arriving from Karhold, overcrowding Winterfell as the Queen feared. Tents were being laid out in front of the gates for the younger crowd and all those who could endure the coldness of the North. While the pregnant women, children and their mothers were accommodated inside the gates, filling the very last capacities Winterfell had to offer. No different from the shortage of heated rooms and comfortable warm beds, the food supplies were running low as well, which was the main concern discussed on these council meetings. 

Once again, the wildlings outsmarted their enemies and this time, it cost the northern people gravely. With all of Sansa’s armies surrounding the walls of The Dreadfort, all the wildlings had to do was pick their next target. And so they did. White Harbor. The main supplier of food, weapons, gold for the whole North. Whenever a ship carried valuable supplies, it would release it’s anchors and dock on this very harbor. 

Using the ignorance of their enemies in their advantage, the Free Folk sent their own  _ wargs  _ to scout out their former target. The Dreadfort. Little to the Queen’s knowledge, Bran was not the only one capable of flying amidst the clouds and spreading his wide black wings into the skies. Her armies were already on the enemies radar before they even reached the castle. However, the wildlings knew Sansa might have her brother’s abilities to help her win this war. Aiming to trick Bran into thinking their target hasn’t changed, they sent a hundred of them as a decoy, dispersing into the woods, disabling him to count their numbers. These were now trapped inside the walls of the Dreadfort with the northern armies surrounding them. As for the rest of the thousands of them… they were enjoying all the fresh supplies arriving from the South and East and unloading on the docks of White Harbor, including those for Winterfell.

Her advisers all had their own opinions and would-be solutions, none of which the Queen found useful. Most spoke only in the interest of their own lands and not the whole northern Kingdom. Some suggested the time to attack was now, meeting their enemies in White Harbor before they moved onto destroying more villages or cities, others claimed a trade was in their best interest. Tormund for White Harbor. The Queen listened to all of them patiently, as all queens should, in hopes one would strike her interest. None did. Sansa learnt enough about her enemies in the past few months to know that they valued the life of one of their own far less than White Harbor. Or that they wouldn’t leave the most valuable city of the whole North just to destroy more villages. Or that if they were to meet the wildlings on the open field, they wouldn’t stand a chance. 

With the wildlings abandoning Karhold to move onto their more alluring target though, the city was left for the taking. Not long passed before the North took it back and made it their new main harbor. Which meant all the ships loaded with supplies would dock here and not in White Harbor. However, it took great amounts of gold to persuade the captains to sail their ships that far up North, adding more days to their previous routine routes. 

Nothing about Sansa’s situation was simple, her own people were against her. Relying on her brother or Tyrion was a mistake that cost her gravely. From now on, she would make her own decisions, her own mistakes. At least be disliked for something she was guilty of. 

When she was finally determined what her next move would be, the Queen disappeared into the darkness of the cold hallway, where in the last cell, awaited her very last shred of hope.


	21. TYRION

The throbbing of his head woke him, evoking the need to vomit. Laying on his stomach, he gagged but nothing came out. Judging by the look of his pillow, he emptied his belly all over it during the night. He squinted his eyes in hopes to reduce the pain the sunlight induced, but he failed at that as well. The bed shook and he turned his hangovered head to the stranger sleeping beside him. A whore. Lately, Tyrion was back to his old habits. Maybe it was this place, King’s Landing brought this side out of him. Of course, there was another reason as well. If anyone had reasons to get drunk, it was him. Besides, that’s what Tyrion does. He drinks and he knows things. Well… he drinks.

Lifting himself up using his arms, he sat at the edge of the bed, his legs swinging. The sun was already well up in the sky, higher than a Hand of the King should wake up to. But then again, few years back when he was his nephew’s Hand, the mornings resembled today’s. Realizing he had already missed the morning council meeting, he grabbed the cup off the nightstand, clumsily dipping his fingertips in the red tasty wine and swallowing the last sips. No reason to start the day sober. 

With one sudden jump he landed his feet on the floor and quickly regretted it the second the room started spinning. Lurching, he pulled the leathered bottoms up and threw a light shirt over his shoulder. Clumsily, he walked to the window, closing the drapes in hopes of easing the throbbing. He turned to look at the stranger in his bed, trying his best to remember her name. He couldn’t. Long light-blonde curls covered her face. The color might have been a bit off, but the braids were all there to make Tyrion gag once more. He shook his head in hopes of pushing the disturbing thought out and staggered, leaving two golden dragons next to the empty cup before he left. The door opened again when a hand dove inside the room to grab the full jug of wine. 

An empty throne room welcomed him with its doors opened wide. The dome amplified the echo his footsteps generated, as its narrow, prismatic windows threw playful shadows over the glistening floor. Feeding his drunk mind, the room created a peaceful delusion, a haze where mistakes weren’t a thing. _ So quiet_. Where was everyone? Sober, even in the King’s absence, the Hand wished not to sit on the throne. Perhaps it lacked the mightiness of the old one, but the new throne had its perks. For one, the King bore no scars or cuts. Drunk however, Tyrion wiggled his butt, moving deeper on the seat, his legs once again swinging. As soon as he thought himself comfortable enough, he chugged the wine as if it were water and let the alcohol wash away the guilty thoughts and prevail his mind, drifting deeper into this beautiful haze.

Drinking was his way of forgetting. Yes, it was a temporary solution seeing as how it all came back as soon as he would sober up, but of course, that in no way meant, he couldn’t get drunk again. And so he did. 

Sansa Stark was losing the war and it was all because of him. Because of his mistakes. He thought himself clever enough to outsmart the Free Folk. And yet again, he made a mistake that cost those on the receiving end of his advice gravely. Lately, he was wondering why people still had any faith in his wits. Didn’t his wrong counseling of Daenerys Targaryen teach them anything? He was not the clever little imp anymore. Not since he released the bolt that ended his father’s story on the shitter. Or maybe not since he met the Dragon Queen. Maybe the fear she struck into him prevented his boldness, his courage. Prevented him of using fire and blood in hopes not to lose her to it, her and the millions of people who would parish into the wind like ash. His only goal became to achieve _ her _ goals with less fire, less blood, less reasons to feed the dragon. _ Funny how that turned out _ . The man who once turned the waters of The Narrow Sea a burning-bright green color, sending his enemies up in the wildfire’s flames ended up relying on a bunch of bells. _ Pathetic_.

So he drank. Drank in the mornings, drank in the evenings, drank whenever and wherever. Why wouldn’t he? He rarely drank when he was the Hand of the Dragon Queen and how did that turn out?

A loud horn woke him. He must have drifted off to sleep again, slipping down in the seat, drooling over his shoulder. Walking out, he chuckled, wondering if anyone had ever done that on a throne.

People were running back and forth to the docks, some carried water, some carried stretchers, some medicine. Did he sleep through war? _ Just as well_, he thought. The smell of burnt flesh drew him back in time when ash covered the streets of King’s Landing. Cries of agony joined the songs of the seagulls composing a tragic, yet beautiful piece. A burnt golden cloak tangled around his foot, nearly leveling him to the ground. As he got closer, the previous beautiful composition turned into noise, screaming and panic. The galleys were docked, pulling on the thick ropes as the waves commanded, whilst the dead, the burnt and the soon-to-be dead were carried over as if what was awaiting at the other end of the wooden bridges would mean life or death. Of course, for many, it was too late. Tyrion had never seen so many people beg for death before.

The burnt smell deepened as one body was carried towards him. _ Is he dead? _Black crust covered the melted skin of his arm, shoulder and half his face. The eyes were shut… well the one Tyrion could identify as an eye. Suddenly, a hand grabbed his arm, pulling him closer, drowning him in the smell of death. Gagging, Tyrion nearly stumbled over him when he noticed the opened eye. It was as if a thick smoke swallowed all its colors. Digging his burnt fingertips into Tyrion’s skin, the blind man yelled “He is coming! The beast is coming!” When the grip around his arm weakened, Tyrion knew, the white eye shut never to be opened again.


	22. DAENERYS

Rustling through the tall weeds, the wind blew across the endless fields of yellow. Back here again. Clutching the straps of her horse, Dany tried to focus on the road, ignoring the soreness of her inner thighs. By now, her guess was, the dark purple had consumed and replaced the last hint of yellowish, nearly faded bruises. _ To touch the light you must pass beneath the shadows. _ Kinvara’s voice dominated her thoughts. For the past few days, Dany was distracted by the last thing the red priestess had told her. _ How could Kinvara possibly know those words? _ The words of the strange woman by the name of Quaithe, who appeared in her dreams. _ To go north, you must go south. To reach the west, you must go east. To go forward, you must go back, and to touch the light, you must pass beneath the shadows. _ Dany never shared those words with anyone. What could they even mean? She wished, everyone would just stop talking in riddles. 

She felt his eyes over the shoulder, her dress left revealed. Riding beside her, Daario never failed stealing glances of his Queen. It sure was flattering, but not nearly enough to stop her from wishing they came from those Stark grey eyes instead. Daario and the Unsullied followed her and who did Jon follow, she did not know, nor wished to know. As he was riding behind them, it was easier to pretend he wasn’t there at all. That lustful gaze of Daario, however, woke something in her, something that required satisfying, something that painted an image of Jon laying on top of her, gazing upon her with hunger in his eyes, a ravenous desire… something she had no time for now.

One dry morning, a wooden box arrived to Meereen as a gift for the Dragon Queen. A head. She recognized the face at once. A younger version of it was still awaiting her approval to go home, to return to Yunkai. Seems yet again, the slavers had gotten used to the comfort their slaves provided. Seeing how there was no trace of a dragon in the skies above them, the masters saw Dany’s message as nothing but a petty attempt to evoke fear in Meereen’s enemies. The breaker of chains was now forced to make a tough decision. Either take her armies south, proving her title true once more, or head North… to her child. A lifetime ago, she would have made this decision lightly, putting the people before herself, before Drogon, as any good ruler should. She was no longer a Queen though. She was, however, a mother.

Before leaving the city, Dany ordered the Second Sons to stay and keep it safe in case the slavers grew bold again, whilst Daario insisted on joining her. If Jon was going, so was he. Furthermore, she freed the young man whose father was slaughtered by their slaver-friends and informed him of his father’s death. Despite Dany’s warning, the young man requested proof and after the head was cleaned and made as well as it could look, it was presented to him in the box it came with. He was given an offer he could not refuse. Dany knew exactly how he felt - eager for fire and blood and therefore, was sent to get the revenge he sought. All of this aligned with her interests as well. As long as the slavers waged war amongst themselves, Meereen would be left alone. Her offer also required him to break Yunkai’s slave tradition in her name, after he avenged his father. Of course, experience has taught her better than to put her trust in a slaver, so her hopes of putting an end to slavery this way, remained low. When a choice is presented and you make a tough decision, there was always a consequence. One of the first lessons she learnt as a young Queen. To gain the young master’s trust though, and persuade him to act in her name rather than his father’s butchers, she also sent all his soldiers, who survived the Unsullied and the Second Sons back with him, before she headed to the_ Dothraki Sea_. 

As if the news of Drogon daily being hunted by the King’s armies and the _ Dothraki _ weren’t painful enough, Dany was also informed of the new scorpions designed by her former Hand. As if convincing the man she loved to put a knife in her heart wasn’t enough, now Tyrion went onto wishing Drogon dead as well. She left the thought of him screaming in agony amid the flames entertain her for a while, before pushing it away. One thing was certain, she could not wait to see his face when she stands right in front of him again. And stand in front of him again… she will.

The riding went even slower, her on-foot soldiers slept for only half of what she, Daario and Jon did and yet when they would catch up with the tireless warriors, their horses would amble more than gallop. The overwhelming sun was leaving its trace over her bare shoulder, turning her skin red. On the other side, the situation wasn’t much better either. The silver three headed dragon that held the light, burgundy dress over her shoulder, carried a heat of a sun alone. Anyone else would have removed it, but she was the Unburnt.

After the sun dove into the sea of yellow, indicating the halt of the riding, the three horse riders withdrew from the path to take their rest while the Unsullied marched on. Away from the city lights, the darkness of the sky filled with stars offered a breathtaking view. The moon was taking its own rest tonight, letting the stars shine even brighter. Laying on her back she couldn’t take her eyes off them. _ So beautiful, I could stay a thousand years_… _ with not a soul to know where I am, away from wars and thrones and priestesses_, she thought. 

“Who is he? Did you love him?” Daario gestured towards Jon who was fast asleep… well as far as she could tell, his back was turned to them. _ Right… these two would know where I am. _

“Daario… It’s late, we should rest.” Jon was never a part of any conversation she wished to have.

“Would you marry him had he asked you?” Sensing the jealousy in his voice, she knew, all she had to do to calm him down, was tell the truth. 

“What? Of course not.”

“How can you have him by your side? How can you even trust someone like that?”

“I could never trust someone like that… And as you know, I told him to leave, but…” she lifted her hand towards Jon “Besides, it doesn’t matter, he can do what he wishes. If he were to kill us, he would have done so already.” She smiled to comfort the worried expression on Daario’s face. When that failed she walked to him and took his face in her hands, kneeling next to him. “Thank you for keeping Meereen safe while I was gone, thank you for never betraying me.” Leaning in, she pressed her lips to his quickly, as a sign of an honest thank you.

Daario was asleep the moment she eased his doubts, her mind on the other hand, was left wondering off through the starry night. Jon rolled over, facing her, his eyes shut and his belly following the rhythm of his deep, sleepy breaths. The nights were the only time she could steal glances of him, without being caught. If she was honest with herself, she would like nothing more right now, than lay next to him, take his arm, wrap it around her and get lost in him… like she used to. _ How could you betray me like that? Why did it have to be you? _Her mind full of questions with no answers. Now and again her eyes would drift off to Daario. How did they look so alike, yet were so different? A man who would kill a realm for her, and a man who killed her for the realm. A man she trusted but could not love, and a man she loved but could not trust. Luckily, Daenerys Targaryen wasn’t that girl anymore. Love and trust were words that interested her no more. She didn’t need them, believe in them nor had room for them.

The morning came and brought the Dothraki Sea’s heat along. The sun was already higher than Dany would have wished. As they rode, faint distant screams snuck through the grass, inducing her to hasten the pace. Near the stream, near Drogon’s old lair, her child was nowhere to be found. Instead, an army of screaming horse-lords welcomed them. Between the weeds, her Unsullied were facing their former allies. Judging by the lifeless bodies on the ground, they have been at it since the break of dawn. She was always curious to know, had the Unsullied met the _Dothraki_ on an open field, who would be the one left standing. This wasn’t the time to find out though. As Dany was trying to locate her Master of War, Daario went on to join the fight while Jon stood still, examining the crowd of bloodthirsty screamers. Finally, he said “Stay here, I will find Grey Worm.” 

He must have seen the distrust in her eyes as his horse got in her way. “Dany, you cannot head in there, you are going to get yourself killed.” 

When she nodded, his horse galloped forward, diving into danger as if Jon had acquired his target. Longclaw was working its way through weeds and people alike, until he got off his horse and disappeared into the grass. He must have found Grey Worm. She hated sitting at the back like this, watching her Unsullied being torn apart by these savages and feeling useless. Whoever their _ khal _ was, he was everything Dany once feared Drogo was. A bloodthirsty savage, with rape, violence and death as his main entertainment. Just when she was about to head into the deadly crowd, a loud scream lifted every _ arakh _ up in the air. The fight stopped and the _ Dothraki _ seemed to be withdrawing into a wide circle. _ What is it now? _She dug her heels into the horse and followed the crowd when she spotted Grey Worm, elbow-deep covered in his enemies blood. Jon was nowhere near him though. 

When the center of the circle opened between the braided heads, Jon was standing in the middle, clutching Longclaw, his eyes fixed on the man who once held a tight rope around his throat. Grey Worm was never his target, their _khal _was and challenging him meant stopping the battle. The crowd around them was full of screaming savages, decorated in red pigment to inspire blood out of their enemies, intensifying the angst in the air.

For the first time ever, Jon was not wearing his armor in a fight and that woke a slight discomfort in Dany, for she might be witnessing his death. To make matters worse, his leg still bore a wound from Daario’s dagger. The _ khal _ towered over his opponent, at least a head taller. Sneaking under his huge arm to the left, Jon avoided his first heavy blow, but when he tried to strike back, the _ arakh _ caught Longclaw while a heavy arm pushed him on the chest, nearly stumbling back. The _ khal _ was not just huge, but fast too. Everytime Jon struck, the _ arakh _ parried, clashing through the perfect silence. Jon was clearly faster, though he seemed to be holding back. _ What is he waiting for? _ His next retaliation attempt, however, did not go as planned. His opponent anticipated Jon’s dodge, throwing him on the ground as if he were a child. Swinging for the kill, the _ khal _ was greeted by Longclaw’s sharp edge in the gut, the red paint inspiring his own blood out. Now, Jon’s strategy became clear, the huge man lost his speed to exhaustion, just like he had hoped. As the massive body of his opponent hit the ground, Jon Snow rose to his feet as the new _ khal_.


	23. THE KHAL

link of the chapter --------> <https://www.hakunamatata-blog.com/2019/10/the-khal.html>

link of the blog -----------><https://www.hakunamatata-blog.com/>

Please don't click on the links if you are one of those who didn't like the story but were following it just to insult me or others.


	24. SANSA

read chapter here --------> <https://www.hakunamatata-blog.com/2019/10/sansa_1.html>


	25. THE DRAGON

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, in the book Dany has a dream about Rhaego (her kiddo) going through what happens to her in this chapter. I took her dream and made it a reality... but for her and not Rhaego. I was first unsure about this because it's waaay out there but it helps explain her madness in King's Landing in a way, she was simply out of control.   
Hope you enjoy it :)

Read next chapter here ----> <https://www.hakunamatata-blog.com/2019/10/the-dragon.html> :)


	26. BRAN

Read chapter here ------->> <https://www.hakunamatata-blog.com/2019/10/bran_1.html> :)


	27. JON

Read chapter here ----->> <https://www.hakunamatata-blog.com/2019/10/jon_67.html> :)


	28. TYRION

Read chapter here ------>> <https://www.hakunamatata-blog.com/2019/10/tyrion_1.html> :)


	29. YARA

Read chapter here ----->> <https://www.hakunamatata-blog.com/2019/10/yara.html> :)


	30. JON

Read Final Jon chapter here ----------- >> <https://www.hakunamatata-blog.com/2019/10/jon_65.html> :)


	31. DAENERYS

Read final Dany chapter ----------->> <https://www.hakunamatata-blog.com/2019/10/daenerys_38.html> :)


	32. TYRION

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All in all, it was a fun and rather amusing ride, with many disagreements and immature insults. It is sad that nowadays people cannot even share their story without getting attacked or insulted. I am sure if I decide to stroll between other fanfics I will find people attacking many other authors as well. The internet is a toxic environment as I am sure all of you have already experienced that, yet no one does anything to change it, in fact, encourages it, exceeding their vulgarity with each additional comment - much like everything else in this broken world. 
> 
> To all of you who judge and insult, please try writing your own story if you don't like the others instead of crying to the authors and saying they suck, it is that simple. I hope you don't get backlashed and experience what I am trying to say. 
> 
> Everything can be said in a mature, calm manner, even if the author made a mistake, but no, for many insults are the way to go. Trust me on this one though, you will achieve much more if you act accordingly, since I for one, have stopped even reading the insulting comments 3 weeks ago and deleted them instead. 
> 
> For the tagging mistake, I apologize one last time. It was on me to read the rules of tagging (the "/" and "%" difference) before posting my story, it was an honest mistake and it can happen to anyone who has just joined the site. Many of you don't believe me it was a mistake and that is on you to decide, however don't expect me to care if you believe me or not, I said what I had to say, I am not sure what else I can do. However, do trust me on this one, had my objective been to trick people into reading my story and tagged wrong on purpose, I would have NEVER changed the tags. Why would I, if I was already expecting so many of you to react the way you did? Doesn't make much sense, does it?
> 
> To those who liked the story, but were disappointed of the ending (Jon/Dany wise) I am NOT sorry for the way I finished the story, but I am sorry you were disappointed. My mind could have been changed about a logical outcome where Jon and Dany would reconcile but only if it were in a realistic and logical manner, based on solid proof and arguments. Since I didn't read any outcome that is believable to me, I haven't changed my mind about them two. Of course, everyone has their opinions and is entitled to have them, this is however my story so I wrote it as I saw fit, I hope you can respect that. 
> 
> Thank you.

Read final chapter ------>>> <https://www.hakunamatata-blog.com/2019/10/tyrion_17.html> :)

**Author's Note:**

> A continuation of Game of Thrones season 8. I have adopted details from the books as well as the show. Like I believe most of us, I too did not like the ending of our favorite show. I tried fixing and giving explanations to some of the plot holes of the last season as I saw fit. Critique is always welcomed. I hope you enjoy it :)


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